I sleep to rest, but
I dream of the past when I sleep.
All the faded clothes covered in holes
and the hoarded items my parents keep
in the house where I grew up.
Only the good memories cover the walls.
But the hard times are buried in places where I don’t know,
in places where we can’t find and don’t want to go.
When I look in the mirror,
I go back in time
and see the face I remember when I was young.
So desperate to be free, and longing to live a life that belonged to me.
Needing to find who I was to become
Not yet knowing how easily I tire when on the run.
Waking from a dream, I find the past still haunts.
But I rise, still I rise until the next setting sun.