Hello and I’m so sorry about this but I haven’t been posting very much at all. I don’t have any excuses, just that I am ridiculously lazy. Now before I get into this post, I want to say a few things. I might be changing up the content of this blog a bit. It will still be writing, but instead of poems, I will be lowering that and adding on short stories, slam poetry, and some songs with their chords. I hope that you don’t mind the change, But if you like that kind of thing, then have fun!

We are the dreamcatchers. We are never far from where you sleep, we never will be. I am the help that humanity needs. Every room in every house has a dreamcatcher hidden somewhere, a place to hide your nightmares and your deepest fears. Every morning, the catchers are chock full of memories, but they are hellish memories, memories that should not be found at any cost. They are your nightmares and I keep them from becoming a reality. There is a reason that I don’t want you to know your dreams. I empty the catcher at dawn every morning, to keep humanity from experiencing the horrors that come to life when we dream. I don’t believe the things I see when I clean them out every morning. I keep the secrets because if I don’t, if even one person hears of the horrors I witness every day, then that person will work their hardest to make that nightmare a reality. I scoff at these humans who consider their occupations as jobs. They think that they are important, because of their money. I go to every room in every house in every country on the planet, because that is my job, and when you have been assigned a job, it is yours for life. Every morning I run into these humans that get up especially early. I visit these people, because no one can see me. It is a curse of having a job that involves interaction with humans. They can’t see me. I’m invisible. I empty their dreams into a box. This box is black, and it is green around the edges for certain people and blue for others. I have been doing this for as long as I can remember, yet I can still not tell you why this is. I visit every house and I see what these people fear most in the world. I have gotten to know every person on this earth through their troubles. I see women who have been rejected and used, I see children who are afraid that every time they see their parents, it will be the last. I see spiders and monsters and porcelain dolls. I see all of these fears, yet I feel no fear at all. It is a strange phenomenon, yet i have learnt to accept it. Today is a new day, and I run to the first room I am to visit that morning. The man walks away from me absentmindedly singing a tune that he has picked up somewhere. At first glance, he seemed a perfect gentleman, but if you knew him, you would see the glimmer in his eyes that many mistake for sadness. This glint in his eye was one that I had never seen before on myself. It seemed to be based off of anger, and seeing his nightmares as they fought to come out of my box, they made it perfectly clear that this anger had made this man so frightening that you would not wish him on your worst enemy. This man had artfully tousled hair and baggy clothes. He was rather attractive, yet if you upset him, he would tear you to pieces. I collected his fears, ranging from a light blue to a deep green the boxes trim changed. I put my box away and I went to the next room. Here there were a sister and a brother, the girl was seventeen and the boy eight, who lived alone in an apartment. They both slept in the same room, with one dreamcatcher underneath the bed. It collected both of their dreams, both of which turned the box to a pale baby blue. They had terrible nightmares, all of them made up of betrayal and tears. They were both still sleeping, laying next to each other while they dreamt. I ran from that house because i knew that they were not done sleeping and their sleep must be complete before I collected their dreams. I found myself in a large mansion, towering above the apartment buildings that surrounded it. It had nine stories. And four times as many rooms. I walked around, gathering nightmares, but being careful not to let any of them go. It was my responsibility to keep them away from prying eyes, because if anyone of these got loose, there would be chaos. One of these people would have their nightmares reenacted right in front of their eyes. I had a duty, and I would fulfill it. I went through the rest of the rooms, taking all of the dreams. I finished by dusk, and I returned to my collection. I added them into the pile, and I locked them away tight. My heart was beating fast, as it always was after these excursions. I took pride in the fact that not once had a dream been lost, even the stupid ones. The nightmares just did something to me that got my heart racing. I repeated this day after day. You’d think I’d have it down by now. It was another day, and I decided to go visit the siblings first. They never seemed to dream of anything consequential. I went through my routine and ended up back at my collection. I thought of the memories inside my box. I thought of the fears and the worries that I had been holding hostage for as long as I could remember. Then it hit me. This was what I was doing. I was taking away a part of these people. I was taking away their personalities, their lives! That man didn’t even know where he had heard that tune…. Those siblings didn’t know that their parents had left them, they were acting as they normally would. The woman who sat at the edge of her bed every night didn’t even know why she was crying, or why she refused to let a doll in the house. And I? I don’t even know where i come from at all. I don’t know who I am or what I do, or why I do it. Why don’t I know who I am? I walked around and stared. There, right in front of me, was a dreamcatcher.