Hello! I wrote a poem on the first Sunday of Thanksgiving break, and now I’m posting it on the first Sunday of Christmas break. Weeeeeeeee.
I had a bunch of weird dreams that morning, and none of them were fully formed. I feel like this poem is not fully formed either, but I can’t remember anything else I wanted to add to it, so I’m sharing it.
Writing is quite strange now. I can’t hide behind my words, I have to stand for them, I have to embrace them. I’m writing songs and hiding the verses, I’m singing songs in my sleep.
I’m being intentionally cryptic because my outlet is now a way out, but not a route I want to take.
Anyways. The poem. Enjoy!
By Maggie McGinity
I had a dream that you would sing.
I dreamed unrealistic things.
One appeared far too fast,
Too rushed, too rash,
Not built to last.
At first I has happy,
To get it out of the way.
But then I thought to say,
‘This is not how I wanted this today.’
Halfway done both in time and content,
My dream left me less certain, more spent.
I awoke before I could see it through.
Don’t know if I love these stranger dreams of you
Though I do, I do
Love dreaming of you
But daydream details cannot dictate
What happens in my mind of late
This was the barest frame of fantasy
(FYI, very PG)
Would’ve rather dreamed you danced with me
Though eventually would have, if I hadn’t awoken.
My dream left out the lines unspoken.
Not yet safe to say uncursed.
God knows how I did my hair
I couldn’t see me. I could see you
I didn’t know just what to do
And my brain, not being quite there yet,
Ran from what it wasn’t sure it could get.”
“In our rushing, bulls in china shops, we break our own lives.”
“Sometimes you don’t know when you’re taking the first step through a door until you’re already inside.”
-“One Thousand Gifts: A Dare to Live Fully Right Where You Are” by Ann Voskamp
“Hold fast to dreams,
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird,
That cannot fly.”
“Haven’t you heard?
I’m stuck on a verse,
I’m stuck on a boy who fills me with joy,
I knew I was wrong to jump straight on into
This picture so pretty,
But he is so pretty to me,
And he doesn’t know just how far I would go
Just to kiss him,
He doesn’t know how I pine”
-“Your Song” by Kate Walsh