PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Forever I live, vividly in the poems I write
The light of text, but dead, speechless in real dialogue, and sight

My mind works beautiful, perhaps to inside nobodies... 
Keen to speaking bravely to anonymous, and the unspoken tragedies

I often fall asleep from hearing myself forever think
I often lose connection to reality's link

In dreams, I somehow am truly awake,

In a pretend land where creativity is looked at,  and can cause a quake

In dreams, I've owned a real name 

Laced only addressed to me, in a visible and legitimate frame

I then awake, and promptly try to escape with clever words,
That then I set free, my creations, like birds

To believe all light around me, is dying
My thoughts are fleeting, and somehow flying

To the irrational fear of what is real
Non-existing, but exists to the perceived realness, of what I feel

A harsh cycle, an odd state,
It's more than that, but it's nothing close to fate

I have accepted that I live among the greedy, the lonely,

I have no home
I am the restless,

I am Jane Nobody.