The Truth About My Reality

What is reality
that I let it define me?
Just concrete clumps of molecules
that tell me how to be me. I don't think you need the redundancy here, and the line sounds more organic and flowing this way
I'm much better off convincing myself
that misty dreams are my home,
and that there are friends all around me
when I'm really just alone.

(Line breaks manipulated in the next stanza- the double meaning of potentially wasting truth works well within your larger framework. And it was already kinda thoughtfully choppy, so... shorter lines don't really mess with the tone.)
How important is the truth
that I should waste
my time searching
for it everywhere, ignoring
this life of mine?

Am I better off in the arms of a dream,
an invisible being that fades with the sun?
Is my imagination the only friend
that will want
for me when I'm gone?
(I think, again, that the double meaning helps your serious, pondering thoughts in here. And the shorter lines to end give a nice sense of finality - perhaps the speaker has not definitively determined that which he/she set out to determine, but he/she has an ultimate realization to continue on with..)

I like this poem. This poem is like gravel in my mind, it's choppy, it's abrasive, it's got a point to prove. What I really like how this poem takes the cliched living in your dreams/imagination and make it completely brand new with it's style. This is definitely a rough kind of poem, but that style fit perfectly! For five minutes, I'm impressed.

creativityrules wrote:Is my imagination the only friend
that will love me when I'm gone?