An Actress' Soliloquy

I slept during the day of a full moon.

Life as a concubine dealt cards at night, and

There rarely was a moment to blow a kiss

To the lunar satellite. I dreamt of the most

Ironically mundane thing ever: Home.

My late brother, miraculously alive

In this conjuration, my parents in love,

And me, smiling with them.

Part of me wishes to tailor this façade,

This costumed fantasy, as a nightmare or

Some sick and twisted daydream.

My brother raped me as a child.

And I have never seen my father's face.

Who was that man, pale and blond, smiling

With my mother, as if he knew her?

The pain and sacrifice she wrought to raise me.

There's not a hint of beige in my skin, yet I dreamed for it

As a supplementary for a better life.

Is this dream an unweaver brought by the moon herself

To reveal the red muscle and white bone and expose

The self-inflicting thoughts that purge my own future?

What am I doing? I should call my mother.

She has always loved me, no matter the flaw.

Though, when I wake, she is fast asleep in the dead of night.

Maybe tomorrow. I promise, this time.