I used to feed myself with dreams
produced by others
and sold in neat packages.
They were my escape from this world
into illusion and pretending.
I knew they were lies.
Now I find my heart giving birth to
dreams so beautiful I am dumbfounded,
dreams I am not able to ignore,
dreams that make fairytales
appear clumsy and ridiculous.
My heart is dreaming its own dreams.
When I look at myself,
my responses and the way I change,
when I look at the people around me,
their responses and the way they change,
I am frightened:
my dreams are real.