Your body is art. I never knew it until the day you showed me. The colors on your skin allowed my imagination to take over. Somebody took the time to emphasize the beauty within you. How lucky they are!



Puppet George

A long time ago, my friend Vladimir got me a President George Bush puppet. This puppet is quite large and I play with it often. In my dream however, Vladimir helped me to assisinate the puppet. I don’t know why we had to kill the puppet, but after we did, we realized our mistake. The puppet was real. He lived. His size never changed, but he was a real person, and now we had to hide the body. We argued about the best place to do this at, and then I awoke.




Part One:

I was at work, and my coworker got up to leave for the day while I was finishing up a final project. My coworker placed a pistol on my desk and walked out of the room. We shared the same desk, with both our monitors and seats aligned next to each other. I was stunned that she had done this. In my dream, I work in a highly secured area and guns are absolutely not permitted. I thought about my options and decided the best thing to do would be to take it to security. I grabbed the gun and put it into my left jacket pocket before heading towards the exit and the security stand with the metal detectors. There was a huge line and then it was only me standing there. I explained to the guards what had happened and told them that I didn’t want the gun to sit on my desk all weekend long. I explained that I didn’t know what to do and thought my best option would be to turn it in. The guards laughed at me and said they would return the gun to its proper place. I handed it over and was extremely relieved.

Part Two:

I had left the building and was meeting my best friend who I will call Vladimir here, which in real life holds a significant inside joke. We were on our way to look at a boat and a travel trailer. We went inside the travel trailer which was very similar to the travel trailer my ex husband owned. It was a small, 23 foot trailer and was decorated pretty much in the exact same way. Only, the entryway floor had a secret compartment, except that the compartment was clear and it had a small entrance in it. So basically, it was like a box in the floor with a clear panel that could be lifted. Inside, I could clearly see a cat. It was a grown cat, but she was about the size of a kitten still. She was a mother cat, and I was extremely worried about her. I asked Vladimir what to do but he thought the cat was fine. I asked him to look at her cage. She had food in there and a cushion for a bed, but the rest of the cage had a yellow substance at the bottom of the area. I thought the mom cat was trapped and in no way could get out of the cage and had been urinating where she slept and ate. I tasted the substance and realized that it was only vitamins.


Tattered Dream

Photograph from internet of William Shakespeare’s quote: Expectation is the root of all heartache.

If you walk past me and see
That I am a tattered dream,
I want you to know
That you could have saved me.

It’s not that I need saving,
But that loneliness becomes too much
Of a burden
Silence as clear as glass.

Am I not worthy of love?
Am I unworthy of the same
Material possessions which you enjoy?
A home, a bed, a hot meal, and some clean clothes?

I wish I could not make you afraid of me,
Of the presence I know myself to shame.
It is not me that you see,
It is the struggle of my orphan hood.

A child cannot know safety if the father is absent.
A child cannot know love if the mother is absent.
Orphan, alone, neglected.
Because of what?

This word, this mark cuts me to my bones.
It slices through my heart like a razor.
It makes me feel the cold.
An absence in my soul; “too much,” it says.

The emptiness surrounds me.
I am blanketed by the stars above me,
And the ancestors who watch me.
While the darkness overtakes the cold.

Alone, alone. The orphan always alone.
I know I have lost my way.
I do not know who I am.
I start to think if it even matters.


As I dream of my so called better life,
I know things could have been much worse.
At least I am alive, I tell myself.
But, being alive is not the same as living.

I am a ghost girl, walking amongst the living.
Trying to become whole, complete.
But I am too shattered.
My fragments of dreams have died in each lover’s hands.

The illusion of love seems to be the only way
Of forcing myself to become real.
To no longer dance the song I am forced to dance.
I want to sing the song in my soul.

The beating of what I listen to is of my own heart.
Bruised by each failed attempt at mending myself.
Shakespeare once said that expectation
Is at the root of all heartache.

He is correct.
I expected to be sheltered by my family
Instead of thrown out into the nothingness.
The wolf laughing while his yellow eyes gleam.

So I say to you, if you see that I am a tattered dream,
I want you to know that you could have saved me.
You could have listened to my heart beating too,
And brought me away from the cold.




I was at my sister’s house, but she isn’t really my sister. She is the second daughter of the man who adopted me and she is from his first marriage. I was adopted by him and his second wife, so we are not related in any way except through the legal system. I was in her house, and I have not been there for years because we have not spoken in years. None the less, I was walking through the entryway and went directly to the back porch, which I would have done normally. Once I got back there, I noticed several changes, such as a roof on the patio that had not been there before. It was almost closed up, and I didn’t like the claustrophobic feeling. Then I noticed that people from my past were there such as my ex husband and a friend from my high school. In real life, none of these people had met any of the others. I left the patio and came inside the house, and went directly into the garage but my ex familiars had followed me in there too. I left the garage and was heading into the spare bedroom in order to be alone when I encountered my Russian brother. He was adopted a couple years after I was and by the same couple. Since I am from Romania and was very young when I came to the US, and my brother was much older, we didn’t get to know each other very well. He is 6 years older than me and only lived in the same house as me for 3 years before he turned 18 and moved out on his own. He stopped me in the hall and berated me about my legal name change. I had taken my Romanian name back and he didn’t like it. He kept telling me that my Romanian name is not my name! He said that the name the people who adopted us had changed my name to was my real name. He stated that he would only call me by what he knew me to be, and refused to acknowledge my coming home to self. I started to scream at him for not accepting me, and then I woke up from my dream.