I want to dream about my reality.

It’s not pretty.

It’s not glossy.

Is it even honest?

My dreams are larger than my life.

They aren’t rooted in insecurity.

But i am insecure.

I have failed.

There have been more tears down my cheeks;

Than laughs in my dreams.

Then why are they there?

Why does my mind conjure this illusion?

Is my joy an illusion?

Will this joy manifest only in my dreams?

My reality is fraught with guilt and shame.

My actions are probably sinful.

I do it anyway and try to forget.

And then i dream about fame and peace?

My soul is trying to heal my mind.

By showing me dreams.

They are not about my truth,

They are not real.

But i dream anyways.

One day it might make sense.

Till then,

I will try finding my way,

Through this maze of confused acceptance.