strange as angels

Sometimes other dream girls find me in my sleep Reminding me to find them again In our waking lives But these are girls that typically hunt for men And I get anxious about leaving them hungry Sometimes I wake up wondering Was I supposed to be a man? And then my clothes don’t fit me Exactly how I want them to And I don’t fit you exactly how I want me to About once a week This girl sends me a voice message: stories in Spanish of her dreams and happenings Things you’d tell a good friend But so many of her stories get lost In translation Across distance Over dry and dusty emotional landscapes I want so bad to understand What I mean to you and what you want from me Where I stand and where I’m headed Is mystery the joy of the journey? Or is it the slow onset of discovery? There’s still so much I long to learn But recently I’ve been pleasantly surprised  remembering I have friends.