My fondest memories happen when I sleep.
I remember nothing.
There is no doubt my dreams outshine reality.
This is an opinion
I will not change.  I look out my window
and see hope in the new dawn.

His mind works overtime.
His head cannot contain
the pressure. His ears are
weary of the voices. He
talks to people who are not
there. A peaceful man, he
struggles to remain that way.
He cannot bury his sickness.
He tries not to make eye
contact with the public.
He knows they don't feel
pity for him. He covers up
his ears with his hands.
He longs for the day when
the voices have left him.
His imagination strays into
irrational delusions. His
medications help somewhat.
He is tired of the stigma.

The angry waitress
made me feel comfortable.
I made minimal eye contact,
only asked for coffee,
and she didn’t come
around again to refill my cup.
I don’t trust the laughing,
smiling waitress.  In my paranoid
mind, she probably spit in my
coffee, or is simply
a complete phony,
smiling at strangers, hiding a frown.
I tip them both the same.
© Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal
West Covina, CA
Bio: Luis lives in West Covina, CA. He has a new chapbook, Overcome, in collaboration with photographer Cynthia Etheridge and published by Kendra Steiner Editions.