Sunday, November 1, 2009

Living the Dream - poem from Oct. 1, 2008

I understand why people cease to believe in dreams.
Age teaches us that we don't always get the things
we want.
Children don't get ponies
And women often don't get diamond rings.
After a few disappointments
We stop getting mad at Santa Claus
And the man we lost
And we start to blame the dreams.

But I really do believe
That the sentiments lying at the core of things
Are real.
You can teach someone what's right and wrong,
But none of us can change what we feel.

I want a man whose features are as artistically chiseled
As his heart is deep
Perhaps not because he's an archetype
But because I want to be a beauty queen.
I didn't study anthropology because
I don't like to dig for buried things.
I find my pleasure in words because
I can tell myself that they are only what they seem
On the surface.
I don't have the diligence
to find the hidden things in you.
I want to get what I see.
I put a lot of stock in a face's value.

I don't pretend to be profound
And you shouldn't try to make an example out of me.
Because I am just a girl
Who enjoys the simple things –
pretty faces, accents, and vigorous workout routines.
The creature comforts –
Southern born, corn-fed boys whose mamas made them read.
I'm no more advanced than that five-year-old girl
Who cried because she got a kitten instead of a pony.
I'm no more realistic than clapping
Your hands to prove you believe in fairies.
And I'm no more enlightened than one
Who treats dreams like they could be reality.

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