I have wanted things
that weren’t real,
and feared things
that weren’t real,
as well.
I have felt unease
that triggered thoughts
of longing,
of distrust,
or hope,
or dread.
Why
have I lived so long
in a world
of my own making,
so often blind
to the truths outside,
floundering
in my own imaginings?
How do we all
live so alone,
barricaded
inside our little universes,
hoping there is
a bigger world outside,
but afraid to find out?