Tuesday, 20 April 2010

reading about surrealism

false childhood

i used to fall a lot
and every time i touched a certain chair
in the dining room
of our too-small first house,
i floated for a second

and every time i stood at the top of the stairs,
i slipped on air

and every time my head touched the pillow,
i dreamt of a door
leading from the alcove with the never-used fireplace
to a vast room
with rows and rows of old toys
and that my brother says did not exist,
though i swear i got lost in it many times

and every time i napped in my parent's bed,
i got sick all over the blue flowers of their duvet...
i did not like their bedroom anyways,
for freddy krueger lived in my mother's closet
and a moth flew into my father's ear one time

but i am not to be trusted,
for these are my earliest memories
and my earliest memories are just recurring dreams


don't you hate when you cannot trust your own mind, when you doubt your own memories? or is it just me?

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