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.