I Woke Up Inside a Poem I Wrote—and I Can’t Get Out!
A surreal descent into the blurred space between creator and creation.
I woke in soft disarray— Eyes fluttered open, But not to my room, Somewhere bright and liminal. I feel claustrophobic As if caught between the bark and the tree I take a step into nothingness And trip on pixels, metaphors— Where am I? I look around—I'm on a page, it seems. Like the cursor on the screen I can go any which way I pull back and am stunned by what I see: "Imagine it being a perpetual state of déjà-vu, With an almost dreamlike quality— Where the mind constantly plays Catch-up with the present. It feels both familiar And inevitable— As if it were a memory, Yet it flows seamlessly Into the future, As though you'd already lived it." Wait... I wrote this! Am I the poet, or the poetry?— "If you could see your life altogether And know what the future holds, Would you be able to cherish the present?" Trapped in the beauty of the text, Reality folds, And I, a footnote in my own creation, On the edge of the sublime, Tap the 'esc' key And jolt from the screen. "Where have you been?" my husband asks— As a stanza still clings to my sleeve.
This is absolutely spellbinding, my friend. I felt like I was wandering through a lucid dream stitched in metaphors,your metaphors. The line “trapped in the beauty of the text, reality folds” gave me chills,it’s the kind of line that blurs all boundaries between creator and creation, and you captured that haunting disorientation so beautifully.
That final image,“a stanza still clings to my sleeve”,was pure magic. It’s such a tender reminder that our words leave traces, even after we’ve stepped out of the page. Thank you for pulling us into this in-between world and showing us how poetry doesn’t just live on the page,it lives in us. 🕊️✨💻🥰❤️✨️💛🫶🏻
“Am I the poet or the poetry?” I love this line so much. You are both, dear MyMy. You are both. 🥰
I’m gonna need to read this one again.