Professor’s Thanksgiving 

There was a huge gate and fence surrounding a building. This metal fence had locks all over it. The fence was protecting a house full of cats. There was even a river running between the entryway of the house and the gate. There were homeless women near the entryway of the gate, on the outside, looking in towards the house. A female professor was talking to the women and insisting on all the reasons why they should come for Thanksgiving. The women end up leaving, insisting they would be too much of a burden. The professor doesn’t like this answer and decides to follow the three women. Before they leave, I make eye contact with one of the women. I recognized her, but she left before I could say anything.

GAM

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.

but,

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.

GAM