Any given Monday in our mechanical mind,
we may assume ego and I are one idea,

we must agree, your I and mine, merge
come together, make a point, go
oh
sh
sure ity…
fret not little person,
strange and new world
aware you and me,

at this point, where the thread through
realization practice loops
our finest lines,
tightens our most perfect seems, along

--------------
a Noh mask, emotion
means nothing if no is no for you

and yes remains, becomes main
idea, yes, mainly being good, thought
through which we pass, to live after, once

so,
close,
I slipped in the mud,
I did not die, I hit the dirt, just
in time, in time, in time, in time,

I and all I knew as ever true, fell, too,
through sansara certainty predictable,

as in time travel adjustment entertainment,

a core interesting movie hook, second chances.

Pattern recognosis, sage mask on, do no more.

I cover my tears
Masks made of too bright smiles
My eyes hold tears of sadness,
Though they see them as tears of joy
I drown my thoughts with lyrics
When they become to much to bear
I talk too freely,
laugh too loud,
Just to cover up the silence
The darkness clouds my brain,
My thoughts,
my feelings
I hide my pain with my humor,
But the jokes feel empty when I’m alone
The silence screams louder than I ever could
And I can’t say it out loud
I know they would laugh it off
Or tell me:
“That’s not you”

So much face but one only I see,
None of souls know...
I keep your name in my dairy.

A yellow blight from a sun,
A deep shallow of those eyes,
The rose color of your lips,
And the white pale of your skin.

The air are burning like a summer,
But you are colder as a winter.

You pull the air of my lung,
Suffocate me with those eyes.

Can we dance for once..
With a symphony from the dead Siren,
As the rain showering us
like a withered crop in a garden.

A shell stands in the wind
unsure of what it is

but first
a man walks up to it

pick and ****
pick and ****

"Why are you so hollow?"

pick and ****
pick and ****

"Do you not like me?"

pick and ****
pick and ****

but, a piece of the shell
broke.

Satisfied, the man left

The broken shell stands in the wind
still unsure of what it is

A woman in the distance
walks up to the broken shell

she jabs at the pices
"Why are you so lazy?"

jab and stomp
jab and stomp

"All you do is act lazy!"

jab and stomp
jab and stomp

the pressure
breaks another piece

and satisfied
the woman leaves

the shell
hollow and empty
crumbles to dust

it gets swept off a mountain
as a powder of crust

now the shell is no more

and all that remained
was a beacon of hope

that one day
the shell
won't be empty no more

the circus clowns were sad
their pain made the people laugh
so every day
they painted their faces
with outrageous colors
and wore ridiculous costumes
they got onto the stage
in front of all those people
they fueled their sadness
into humor
and tricks
the people laughed and laughed
when the circus clowns show was over
they put on normal clothes
and removed their face paint
they lay in bed at night
and cry themselves to sleep
in the morning
they have another show
so they use the face paint as a mask
to hide away their pain

Once upon a time, there were five children who weren’t really children.
They were neglected feelings wearing borrowed skin and convictions of no needs.

The first was a boy who felt nothing at all.
He walked through life like a ghost no one remembered dying.
They called him cold, but he was just tired
Of dripping in places no one would whipe.
Inside, he wanted someone to knock on the door he bolted shut.
But no one ever stayed long enough to try.


The second was a dog who was always smiling.
People passed by and said, “What a happy little thing.”
But they put a leash around its neck and called it loyalty.
It wagged its tail even when it hurt,
because someone once told it love is earned through obedience.
So he waited.
And waited.
And waited.
No one returns.


The third was a boy who swallowed his nightmares.
He thought if he ate them all,
they’d go away.
But they grew inside him like weeds—
and some nights, he screamed in his sleep,
his belly full of bells no one could hear.

The fourth was a hand—
just a hand.
It wanted everything.
It grabbed and gripped and begged to be filled.
But everything it touched turned into something else:
a kiss became a bruise,
a hug became a choke.
The hand never asked, only took.
And still, it was always hungry.


The fifth wore a mask.
A lovely one.
Shiny eyes, soft lips, laughter stitched just right.
She wore it so long,
she forgot who lived underneath.
When people loved her,
she wondered who they were loving.
So she smiled harder.
And disappeared a little more each day.

One by one,
they wandered into the Forest of Almost.

They didn’t mean to meet each other.
They were just looking for silence
that didn’t hurt.

They didn’t speak at first.
They only sat—close, but not touching.
Each one pretending not to notice
how the others looked like pieces of them.

The boy who felt nothing
was the only one who saw the dog’s leash.
The girl with the mask
was the only one who saw the nightmares blooming under the boy’s skin.
The greedy hand trembled when the smiling dog licked it gently,
as if even hunger deserved kindness.

And slowly,
they did what no one else had done for them:

They stayed.

Not to fix.
Not to save.
Just to be.

And maybe that was the magic.
Because in the Forest of Almost,
they didn’t become whole—
but they did become real.

And sometimes,
real is the bravest thing you can be.

what if you knew
not only the poet
but also the monster?

would you like me enough
to keep reading?