i read the word daydreamer in a poem and i want to write my own. i remember still the sensation of waking from daydreams at my desk that was not my desk, that was anyone's, with their hardened gums stuck underneath. waking intensely embarrassed, thinking they could see my daydreams, feeling naked all the time in the midst of strange kids. i want to say something i knew would sound insane in the common air i always wanted to be i was mute, i could speak but i was muted in the daydream and everyone else seemed to be on the same page, strangely awake. after all this time i'm still trying to translate myself am i untranslatable? and what is time it's getting old i'm still back there i'm still a daydreamer i'm still here.