THE VIOLINS IN MY HEAD, AND THE REAL ME

My mother sees the scowl on my face and the bitterness in my eyes.

But she doesn't hear the violins singing in my head,

she doesn't see the lips locking with each other,

the arms wrapped around each other,

the slowdancing together,

the baby cradled in my arms,

or the look in our eyes.

All she sees is the "real" me,

but not the dream me.

But I live in my dreams.

That's the real me.

If you want to see me doing more than scowling and snarling-

if you want to see the softness behind my eyes and me swaying with the slow music...

meet me in my dreams.