To the People On the Other Side of the World

To the people on the other side of the world,

where my day is your night, and

my life takes place in the time

and space between bedsheets

and snores and noises in the dark,

and people stretching out their

arms and legs to get more comfortable,

I’ve had my most uncomfortable moments.

I’ve fallen and scraped my knees

while you clutched your blankets;

I’ve fallen in love and clawed my way out of it

while you adjusted your pillows.

I cried for sleep while you didn’t know

how lucky you were.

To the people on the other side of the world,

I’m as real as the nightmare you shake yourself out of

at two in the morning because you’re an adult

and you’re too old to be having nightmares.

I’m as tangible as the glass of water beside you

in the dark you’re too scared to reach for

though you’re dying of thirst; it’s hard to see

and you might knock me over.

To you, I’m the book lying wide open

on your nightstand that you haven’t touched

in weeks because you were too busy

touching someone else.

I am here but not here.

I am on the world, but not your world.

To you, my life is nothing but

a passing dream.

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13 thoughts on “To the People On the Other Side of the World

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