The Dream Weaver

Humans! We love making plans, don't we
But it seems like
Every time I make a plan
It gets taken away from me.

It's like reaching for something
That isn't there.
So, because my plans are always taken from me
As if by a kindergarten teacher who would not have her student
Holding something so delicate,
I instead make dreams.

You may call me the Dream Weaver.
I weave dreams into my loom
That is made with the ripped silk of plans that someone tore in half—
I make dreams, or force the world
To keep turning my way.