He was beside himself

With rage,

He had a lot to say

But only had

A single blank page,

And it had seemed

Quite unfortunate

To have no power

To change

The way everything

Was taking place;

He was brought

On the stage

While still being held

In a cage!

So he held it all in

And refused to engage-

They might call him

A sage,

But that’d be a mistake,

For a wise man

Never gives into

His rage;

A wise man is never

Defined by his cage.


Featured image from Pexels

A House

He is a house

With a backyard and all,

Chipped concrete steps,

Blind holes in the walls,

And strange doors

That don’t close

All the way through.

He gets a paint,

A shade less dark

But gets overlooked,

Even though he looks sharp

From outside the doors

That don’t close

All the way through.

He sometimes has visitors,

And they often talk,

Leave cobwebs of memories

Before they walk

Out of the strange doors

That don’t close

All the way through.”


“Here we are, trapped in the amber of the moment. There is no why.”

Kurt Vonnegut

On Paper

I cannot see you

In the flesh

For I know you

On paper,

You know me

On paper,

That is where

It makes sense,

That is where

I make sense;

Let’s not hear

Ourselves out loud.

Not yet.


Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay


I hope our worlds

never cross paths,

for you live

wrapped in silver,

moonlit, starry,

peacefully quiet

country nights,

while I wander

cloaked in ghastly,

bloodless, blotchy,

strangely tainted

urban lights.


“Because a quiet night is not the same as a silent one, a firm man is not the same as a steady one, and a bright light is not the same as a brilliant one.”

Tahereh Mafi, Unravel Me


please do not force me

to raise my hand,

I do not have the answer,

I do not understand;

I am only a speck,

and it all seems grand

to a person like me

who cannot withstand

a disdainful look,

a comment offhand,

for I have filled the void,

but I have filled it with sand.


We are all apprentices in a craft where no one ever becomes a master.

Ernest Hemingway


it feels surreal

when a tender moment

moistens your eyes,

pulls at your heartstrings,

and melts in your ears;

a moment like that

can add life to your years.



We expect ourselves

To be thoroughly read

Despite knowing quite well

That most people only

Judge the covers,

Live through the excerpts,

Embrace the snippets,

But never the whole thing.


Photo by Oziel Gómez from Pexels

Jar It!

I wish there was a way

to keep all the love

we have for

our baffled selves

in a tiny, amber jar,

so when we begin

to see ourselves

in an unkind light,

we do not have to

look too far,

for all love fades,

and all love breaks,

but the preserved love

might remind us of

who we truly are.


Image by congerdesign from Pixabay


if you let mediocrity

put out the fire

that burns within you,

could that be your

ticket into the world

that might still hate you

for being too late

to the party, perhaps?


“A boo is a lot louder than a cheer.”

Lance Armstrong

Featured image from Pexels

Smaller and Better

They say that we are made

of stardust and I do not know

how we are supposed

to live up to that.

Can we pretend that we are made

of eraser shavings instead,

and that we can always be rewritten

into something great?


So Far Away

I hope that tonight

a soft breeze rushes

through your hair,

and the crisp air

wraps itself around

your aching feet;

the starry sky

above your sleepy head

tries to keep you up

when the mellow sounds

in the background

are lulling you to sleep,

and I wish that you dream

the sweetest of dreams.

I hope that when

we get to meet,

you are at peace,

and you tell me

that everything

has been great for you.


PPhoto by Felix Mittermeier from Pexels

“But nothing makes a room feel emptier than wanting someone in it.”
Calla Quinn

Those Days

Lately, when I look at myself

I cannot bring myself to say,

“Wow, I look as if

I am doing quite well!”

And when a small,

Belittling part of me shouts,

“You are one shell of a belle!”

I try not to dwell on it,

And when I shut my eyes

In hopes of breaking the spell,

It does not work very well.


“You know that there are colours in the day. But shadows gather and your thoughts collide.”
Deirdre Sullivan

Image by StockSnap from Pixabay


Sometimes we mean well, but we have a hard time expressing ourselves. Three short poem toying with this idea:


I bring my blues

To navigate through

Your orange skies-

Things keep getting greyer.


Why be afraid

Of the ones

Who hate you?

Even if no one

Pushes you

From behind,

You can still fall

Flat on your face!


How can you

Read their eyes

If you cannot

Bring yourself

To look into them?


Image from Pixabay

Sleep Paralysis

If I could sleepwalk

Out of this nightmare,

I should vow never

To sleep ever again,

But right now

I am unable to move,

And no one hears me

When I scream,

And no one knows

How bad a dream

I seem to be

Wide awake in!

Is it because it is

Always half past one

In somebody’s mind,

And it is not

An unusual time

To go amiss

Inside your own head;

To be half-dead?


“I love to feel the temperature drop and the wind increase just before a thunderstorm. Then I climb in bed with the thunder.”

Amanda Mosher


sometimes what you

choose not to reveal

betrays you,

making you a spectator

of your own truth;

contemplating whether

or not to break

your own heart,

you weakly applaud

all the while dreading

the curtain call-

the final fall!



I may see the world

in colours some day,

but right now

I am not ready to surrender;

they say that pretty things

are often poisonous,

but why would

you not die for lavender?


“But he who dares not grasp the thorn
Should never crave the rose.”
Anne Bronte


A woman sits

With a needle threaded

Halfway through

An unstitched thought,

Her child sits

With an open book

Halfway through

An unformed thought,

Her man sits

With a tangled mind

Halfway through

An unraveled thought,

Their world sits

With an uneasy feeling

Halfway through

A breaking thought…

Not a single thought

Makes it through!


“One person’s craziness is another person’s reality.”
Tim Burton

Featured image from Pexels Free Photos


You sing a song

In the wind,

And it reaches

Some unkind ears,

But someone out there

Begins to feel

Every word they hear,

And someone else

With parched eyes

Is suddenly moved

To tears, but you

Sing in the wind

As if it is

The only thing that cares,

Oblivious to the fact

That the very air

Is for everyone to share!


Not Alone

not everyone

can get to go

on big adventures

in this life,

some of us have

only little things

to find joy in;

getting a day off

from work,

going for a walk

with the October moon,

peach iced-tea,

chocolate ice cream,

a good movie,

a big book,

and your own

sweet company-

some of us

are happy loners,

with half-empty pockets,

introverts by choice,

not necessarily our own,

but we still have a lot

to be grateful for!


“Let me tell you this: if you meet a loner, no matter what they tell you, it’s not because they enjoy solitude. It’s because they have tried to blend into the world before, and people continue to disappoint them.”
Jodi Picoult, My Sister’s Keeper


I hate to cheat

On books,

But lately,

I feel scared

For there is a lot

That I need

To read,

But not enough time,

So with three

Books open

At the same time,

My heart looks

For a home

In the fourth one.

Two eyes, one mind,

One lifetime,

And your entire world

Nothing but

A giant shelf,

With books spilling over!


Life Advice

someone once told me

that you should always have

something to look forward to,

and that you should

take it one day at a time;

I have these things

that I cannot wait to do,

but I never get around to them,

it could be because I live

from one hour to the next-

if no two people

have the same life,

how can you accept any advice

without adapting it

to your life first?

is this why no advice works?


Image by Oleg Gamulinskiy from Pixabay


I reconnect sometimes

to the reality,

and it feels like a lifetime

before I disconnect;

there are no wires,

but the signal distortion

never lasts long,

and I wonder how long

can I live like that

before the two timelines

merge into one,

and I forget

what it was like

not to belong?


“Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn’t go away.”
Philip K. Dick

The Masked Days

I wrote this poem on this day last year. Not much has changed. I am getting sick and tired of having one (or two) masks on the entire day. It is not pleasant at all.

The no-makeup, plain-face,


Breathe stale air

Through layers of fabric

Or some thick, three-ply


Perfectly concealed stays

The permanent, unamused

Animated face, not unfazed

By a completely random

Unscratchable itch

Which disappears leaving

A definite trace – a new spot

Finding a spot on

The no-makeup, scar face-

The masked days

Have now overstayed

Their unwelcome.


Image by cromaconceptovisual from Pixabay

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