Reality?

I know I am not a mirror

But I see myself everywhere I go

Reflections of myself in

Everyone I know.

I know I am human,

With red blood that flows

But it feels like ink,

And it goes too slow.

I think I am a writer,

And I suffer for my art.

I write to unravel,

And watch myself fall apart.

I think I am human,

And I’m supposed to feel

But if you pinched me and I woke,

I wouldn’t be surprised it wasn’t real.

Running through the field

Of clovers, naked wild and free

Hoping a four leafed clover

Simply finds its way to me.

Maybe I was wishing for

Things I didn’t need,

Like ladybugs and pennies

And other lucky things.

I realized Maybe luck had been

Inside myself all along

And I wrote it out on a page

Like it was my favorite song.

These days I believe that luck

Isn’t something that you find

It’s something you make

When you finally take the time.

So I hope I never wake up;

If it is a dream.

I’ll take the blue pill

Over swallowing reality.

Maybe it isn’t luck

But it’s everything to me.