My Real Home,The Real Me

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    My Real Home,The Real Me

    My real home glows with soft warm colors of lavender and blue. Above my fireplace is a picture of a unicorn running through a misty forest. I believe that the REAL me is part unicorn.

    The flames from my fireplace cast crazy shadows on my wall, these shadows dance in my mind. Some are memories from the past, others are dreams of the future. I believe that part of the REAL me is fire. Music streams quietly throughout my room, taking me to where ? I am not sure, but the REAL me is in the music and I become the unicorn, the fire, and the music I really am.

    Oh, yes, I would like to share ME with someone I could truly love...but where do I look to find a unicorn?

    I love this big place I live in and call the world, yet I know nothing in it is real. I only truly believe what is in my heart and in my imagination. I have walked through the cold reality I have been force-fed to believe...work hard, nose to the grindstone, stay focused on...I suppose I could tell myself I am doing the right thing. It looks right. A big part of me goes to sleep at night thanking myself for a job well done. I try to make this my reality. But my heart yearns for the unicorn, the mist, the fire, and the sweetness of my swirling, glowing colors.

    I can't find my real home, so I live in the imaginary place...on an imagnary street, in a big city that isn't real...and applaud myself for "being right" and "doing right". I am not quite sure whose standard I measure myself by, and I don't know what reward for "being right" I am receiving.

    I can close my eyes and in a flash see the REAL me. I just can't find the path that is real in a world that is only imaginary. Could I ever make anyone understand that I am part unicorn, part fire and music...?

    Maybe if I find the other half of my imagination, then together we could stop pretending and find our way out of here..and go to the mist, the fire, and the beautiful forest of real life.

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    Poetry is not the expression of personality but an escape from personality.

    T. S. Eliot (1888-1965) American-English poet and playwright.

    wagner300’s Poems (5)

    Title Comments
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    THE BRIGHTEST WISHING STAR 0
    Great Lakes Graduation Day 1
    Angels Singing 0
    My Real Home,The Real Me 0
    Wounds of the Soul 2