TANGLED DREAMS

When I was younger, my long blonde hair was my dreamcatcher.

The bad ones would get stuck behind my ears.
The good ones would slip through and tug on my eyelashes,
wishes for the morning.

When I was a little older, my mother was my dreamcatcher.
She would untangle the bad dreams from my hair every night,
with her long long fingernails.
She know I couldn't,
I've always been a nail biter.

When I was in high school, Thursday lunch was my dreamcatcher.
Miss Walker had her giant one in the corner,
and the poets' words turned the bad dreams into okay ones.

I bought myself a college dreamcatcher.
I'm hoping it can hold them still,
long enough for me to hold on.
See, I have had problems remembering my dreams for years now.

I'm afraid of forgetting my night dreams,
my day dreams,
even the nightmares that keep me feeling.
Just like I am afraid of forgetting the first time,
the last time,
even the worst times that kept me feeling.
Because, when I was in love, you were my dreamcatcher.