Poetry

Into reality, my book will burst

Soon, the womb inside my head

will birth the worlds I dream of nightly.

The inhabitants, newborn

will look upon reality.

I know they will seek meaning.

I know they will want to carve

out their place among elders

from families where resources

and soapboxes are far from scarce.

Their voices will be a bawling, weariness inducing

cry. I’m here, I’m here, I’m here.

With time and hard work, they will

mature. I have found my place.

I am here. I am real.