Category Archives: dream

Protected: Don’t try to rush my healing

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a pumpkin robot (another letter i’ll never send)

dear k:

photo  by wottheduk.
i think i am a robot.

not the shiny high tech kind that a brainy person could build from scratch and program with enough happiness and frivolity to make billions of people happy. or the sexy, intriguing kind that writers like to ponder in their poetry. but a listless, lifeless, often redundant robot with limbs so heavy that sometimes it hurts to walk — if i’m lucky. but i am not lucky or shiny or sexy. i am merely a pumpkin robot. my insides stream out and color the ground a gentle orange; i am so empty that i wonder if i am dead.

i eatsleepwork but all from behind a trusty window. the days are so similar that i forget if it is monday or thursday. have you left me yet or am i still convincing myself that one day you won’t be angry and lash me with it? i could have loved you something wonderful.

i like to press my face against the glass and feel coldness push itself into my cheeks. if i wait long enough maybe my brown cheeks will turn a lush, soft pink like a baby. maybe i could start all over. it’s not like i have anything left.

i write the words save me into the foggy glass. i used to try to save everyone. i dreamed all the world needed was love to heal. people don’t want love though. they want food. they want their amputated leg to stop hurting. they want to erase the images of  gun shots and bombs that stripped their family, country apart. what can you and your stupid love do for me, they shout. i whimper and flatten myself against the ground — my pumpkin iron arms the only thing holding me together.

sometimes, i think there’s another pumpkin robot out there (maybe even you). i talk to him or her rather than to god — my soul is damned anyway. i know you’re out there, i whisper to her. the words you have to be float into the thick quiet.  roam the world with me. i know a perfect spot for dreaming where it never grows cold, the air smells like vanilla and honey, and you don’t have to wear shoes. the grass tickles your feet and you’re happy. you’re happy and it’s not a war to stay that way — it’s intermingled in each breath in and each laugh out.

come with me. we can paint our dreams in bright yellow and purple hues and string them together with band aids and the little bit of love we can muster from our rusty parts. we can fly away on them and never look back.

— lissa.

imagine freedom

this poem is inspired by this painting by rick mobbs.

hold your breath and kiss me until joy travels through every orifice of your body.
. ……… . …… ………………………………. .

imagine us together forever. tuck yourself under the shade of the chocolate tree in our imagination, carve our initials s and e into the trunk with strawberry juice, and lay with me against the blue soil until dawn.

i stroke you over and over until the whip lashes tattooed into your brown skin shimmer like golden stars. you become so warm that you relearn how to feel and tears of happiness stream down your face as my laugh, slow crescendo of love tickles your cheek. i see the anatomy of a rainbow in your eyes.

just before nightfall, you point into the distance. tremors overcome our bodies as we see us in a future dreamland — young, happy, and free with our daughter by our side. we wake during the night surrounded by the remnants of her singsongy voice; she soothes us back to sleep.
. ……… . …… ………………………………. .

when morning comes and master finds us, we repeat “we dwell in the house of the lord” again and again. we are not afraid because we know that i am the sun and you are the earth. our story is without end.


dream boy.

this piece appears on indie bloggers. yay!
Bangkok, Thailand, originally uploaded by shadowplay.


i want to wake and still be with him.

he finds me no matter which dream room i pick. beautiful him. his face draws so close to mine that i can smell his vanilla breath. a tingly feeling reminiscent of girly, wistful love runs through every centimeter of me as he kisses my back and it tickles.

sometimes, when he sees me it’s after another day of heart break by another monster and he doesn’t say anything. he smoothes away the tangles in my hair and he lets me cry until i can’t. then, he lifts up my head from his chest and tells me he’s in love with me. he says it over and over again and my brown cheeks flush with joy.

he doesn’t talk about his day life but often when i see him his mocha skin has breaks in it like he’s been beaten. i wipe his knuckles clean with alcohol and kisses. he rests his head against my stomach, listening to its rumbling and my soft singing to him, and i feel the anger slowly leave his body.

sometimes, we just sit, too numb to engage, our backs leaning against each other. we read or listen to music or play separate hand held video games. the silence slowly dissipates with his laughter. his bright, eruptions of laughter at my silly, random jokes feel like home. he clutches my face and kisses me. pieces of his laughter drift through my lips and recess in the vacancies in my heart. i feel what happiness must feel like.

we try to stay together, to stay asleep, but fighting to stay asleep becomes as painful as fighting to stay awake does when you’re tired. we never get to say good bye; we wake up alone.


REM cycle love

this piece appears in Slice Magazine. yay for me.

torn by Grace_L


i had canned tomato vegetable soup and wheat thins for breakfast, lunch, and dinner to save time. i was wrapped in a navy blue, tattered comforter. my body was exhausted, my calves throbbed from the tight anxiety running through my body most of the day. it was finals week and i was only getting four hours of sleep.

i fell asleep to the soothing sounds of my space heater. i fell asleep with the lights on, the television blaring, and my contacts still in.

i dreamt a series of dreams about love. happy, fluttery types of dreams that young school girls have. i didn’t want to dream happy, fluttery love dreams. i wanted dark, dreary dreams that wouldn’t cause hope to blossom inside of me.

in dream number one, i was witty around a george clooney type of guy, completely unflustered by my admiration of him.

in the second dream, i ran into my high school crush, henry. henry was the guy i always wanted to get in MASH who if he just knew my name i would be happy. he was perfect to me — quiet, funny, smart, sweet.

in the dream, henry and i bumped into each other at a starbucks. i was witty with him (wittiness is always the goal for me) and he was witty back. we were sitting across from each other at starbucks smiling and then abruptly we were in his black and white spotless kitchen finishing spaghetti and meat sauce. a perfect jump in location, i think.

i woke up temporarily filled by a deep-reaching endorphin type of feeling. i was confused between reality and dream world. had i met a guy last night? i smiled to myself and noticed my cheeks hurt. is it possible to smile in your sleep?

i wondered, could my subconscious be telling me that i actually wanted to love again? i thought i had given up on real love. i thought i preferred to have temporary fixations on michael jackson dance-alikes or science professors. i had been clinging to the logic – why love when you can pretend to love?

these were groggy morning thoughts like when you write a brilliant idea down in the middle of the night only for it to look like jibberish the next day.when I thought about things after i had showered, had a cup of vanilla chai tea, and took my contacts out of my stinging eyes, i finally started to see things clearly, i realized that i wasn’t ready to give up pretending. maybe if love was a dream that i could wake up from before getting hurt. for now though, until that day comes or love finds a way to sneak up on me and invade all my hiding places, i would keep on dreaming.

by lissa