There's a conversation in her eyes,

Continents and oceans,

Stars and moons,

A whole world of hidden emotion,

There are a million people,

In the world that we can't see,

Speaking,

Through her broken lips of mystique.

Impressions and dynamics,

All leaving their mark on her heart,

So that she might build,

Her whole world to embark,

Leaving behind,

And a trail of broken glass,

Her feet may bleed,

But again, she returns to repass.

A thousand voices,

Come echoing through her head,

Stars fall,

For so it is said.

She stands atop,

One hundred souls,

Blessed by the figmentary,

All scratching for control.

All holding it in,

Tales of old,

But to embark,

On the quest of untold.

On the verge of something great,

On the verge of giving in,

Here she fights,

Against her own sin.

Sparkling fortunes,

Inside her glimmering mind,

Characters and nations,

Of which have been perfectly refined.

No one understands,

The glory within,

Only the pain,

That has always been.

Rules and dominions,

All shining through her eye,

Such as the conversation,

And her entire world, awry.

I would like to add some commentary on this particular poem.  This poem is from the perspective of a maladaptive daydreamer. If you do not know what that is, do not worry. Maladaptive daydreaming disorder is professionally called Daydreaming Disorder (MD) or (CF) for Maladaptive Daydreaming or Compulsive Fantasizing. I will admit to having this condition, it is the thing that gives me an edge in for writing. I have also talked to dozens of other daydreamers. I conder myself weak because of what I personally struggle with, but what I've found is that the people who have this are extremely strong and brave. They admit to being ashamed of this condition because they have spaced out and walked out into traffic or held up traffic.

I would consider myself lucky to have this condition because it gives me immense creativity and an extremely powerful imagination, but this poem is meant to show people who do not have this condition that pains of having another world within you.

The last word in this poem is crucial, the word 'awry' doesn't just add on to the last line or the stanza, it adds to the whole poem. Awry means amiss, wrong, inappropriate, askew, imperfect, or informal. It gives an insight into 'her' feelings about herself and self-esteem when it comes to her MD. 

I also have a made up word in this poem. 'Figmentary' looks like 'fragmentary' but it takes a quick look at the root for you to be able to figure out the meaning. The root is 'figment', and that words are used to describe something of the imagination. So when I say that she is 'blessed by the figmentary' I mean that she is blessed by the things of her imagination. Shakespear made up dozens of words, so I don't think of it as much of a stretch for me to do the same.

This may not seem to be a very striking poem to you, but it is one of my favorites (and I've written close to a thousand poems) There is a lot of meaning packed into it, so if you would like, please review it and maybe you'll be able to understand another societal front better, after all, that  is the only reason I am writing this book.