Reality is the filter. 

It's paramount. 

It advocates our aspects in every particle of air,

it pumps the hue into our cheeks with every breath. 

In every wave of light,

it contours our characteristics with coalitions of those colors.

We thrive in it's refreshing saturation.  

In every force of gravity,

it's inescapable. 

It is the truth. 

The truth that allows us to actually see. 

To recognize concrete forms,

And to appreciate what they are. 

It works the gears that crank behind our eye sockets.


Yet without it, 

I crash through forms of concrete, 

My colors radiate like a supernova,

An explosion that blossoms irrationality

As a black hole.

The manipulation of the universe around me

Is what I decide to see.

The gears crank until they spiral into revolving spheres,

My imagination envisions the universe. 

There is no limits without it's gravity,

No extent to it's spectrum,

Yet life in every breath. 

Reality is the filter. 

Without it I am a dreamer. 

This poem is about: 


Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741