I’ve learned to stop dreaming,

Because whenever I do, it kills me.

The staring out the window,

Hopeless romantic,

Daydreamer,

Always living in the world

That’s “just a fantasy”

It slowly wears away

That rigid frame of reality.

So intensely, that I stopped noticing

The subtle things-

The delicate sounds,

The back and forth

Of the here and now.

But now, you see-

This isn’t the daydream

It’s the nightmare.

It’s the place where

“Everything’s okay”

“Don’t let it bother you”

“It’s really not a big deal”

But those things are real.

No matter how they’re painted-

Whether they’re decorated

Like a birthday cake,

Wrapped up,

Like a treasured gift,

Or framed in gold,

Like a masterpiece.

That’s your peace-

And it’s gone.

To the dream world,

The make believe,

The expanding denial,

The world “as it should be”

But what about the world as it is?