You walk through the world, an echo in the dark,
Wondering if the flame is real, or just a spark.
Your hands hold paper, yet they grasp at air,
Questioning the faces gathered by the stair.
Are they solid truth, or shadows on the wall?
The friends who laugh, the lovers when they call?
Your family, your siblings,
the partner's gaze—Are they merely phantoms lost within the maze?
Are you a creature of the earth, flesh and bone?
Or just a nameless insect hiding in a stone?
A bird in mist, a flower blooming fast, A drifting fish,
or roots that anchor to the past?
Are you a mountain reaching for the sky?
Or a falling leaf that time has hurried by?
Are you the river winding to its endless end,
Or the biting cold of winter, a cruel, familiar friend?
Are you the pain that cracks the weary chest?
Or the love that heals and promises a rest?
The tiny atom, unseen, yet holding space,
Or the expanding universe, a boundless, starry grace?
Maybe you are nothing but a breath of air,
Bound to a name, a phantom standing there.
Perhaps you do not know, and that is perfectly fine,
To wander softly through the fog, without a grand design.
It is better, isn't it, to let the mystery stay?
To slip without an answer into the fading gray?
That is what you sought, beyond the fading chime, The quiet peace of being unknown,
after all this time.
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Right?
May 23
May 23, 2026 at 9:52 AM UTC
“Smile,” they urge, “just play the part,” But what’s a grin without a heart?
Perhaps "happy" is a word too tall, And a simple curve is all they call.
“Smile a little, it suits your face,” A splash of paint to hide the space.
They don’t need your joy, your light, your fire, Just the upward tug they all admire.
Smile for them, so they never trace.
The hollow lines behind the lace; A porcelain mask, a grand design, To keep the wreckage from the shrine.
Are you happy, drifting through the years, Or just an expert at drying tears?
You want the truth, not the painted lie, But a smile looks better to the passerby.
It’s a decoration, a gilded screen, The prettiest veil that’s ever been.
“Wear it,” they say, “it fits so well,” But you’ve lived so long in that hollow shell.
Why claw at the edges? Why try to break free? When the mask is all they want to see.
They fear the salt, the raw, the deep, The nameless secrets that you keep.
Is it an ugly face, or just unknown? A map of shadows you’ve walked alone?
You dropped the mask once, felt the chill, Was that the freedom you sought to fill?
Or are you trembling, stripped and bare, Scared of the ghost that’s lingering there?
Perhaps the crowd didn't build the wall, Perhaps you’re the one who fears the fall.
It isn't their hands that pull the string, But your own fear of the truth you bring.
Perhaps it’s you who shuns the light, To keep The Smiling Mask in sight.
May 1
May 1, 2026 at 3:34 AM UTC
Be the saint, they’ll break your wings,
Be the rogue, the chaos sings.
They watch you act, they watch you play,
To twist you into what they may.
A tool, a weapon, a broken vow,
Good or evil, they don't know how.
You dance in rhythms you never chose,
In a theater where the curtain never close.
A smile, a laugh, a hollowed grace,
Masking the void of a nameless face.
You claim the truth, but the light is thin,
Where does the lie end and the soul begin?
Wear the halo and watch it fray,
Until your own heart gives you away.
Don the crown of the rogue, so grand,
Until your own shadow shakes your hand.
It was never a war of light and dark,
Just selfish roles that left a mark.
When the world is stripped and the greed is bare,
Ask yourself who is standing there.
Are they real, or a mirror’s glass,
Watching the same tired shadows pass?
You claim you never wanted the play,
But you built the stage where you decay.
In the end, you hold the script, unread,
And truth is just the lie you haven't said...
Apr 29
Apr 29, 2026 at 4:37 AM UTC
Hold your silence, but let it hum with a song,
Be heavy with sadness, yet know where you belong.
Grow tall and wise, but keep the child’s silver play,
Build walls of glass—clear to see, yet keeping hurts away.
Give with a quiet hand, not for the world to see,
Be firm in your truth, but let kindness be the key.
Let your anger burn as heat, but never as a blade,
Walk trembling into the dark, but go unafraid.
Let your failures be guests, not ghosts that haunt the hall,
For when you bow to the stumble, you rise above the fall.
For you are the sun’s high fire and the moon’s soft pull,
The jagged, broken pieces that make the spirit full.
You are the brilliant bloom and the rot beneath the leaf,
The logic in the mind and the salt within the grief.
It is not a war to win, it is not a self to shed.
It is not about the "good" or the stories you’ve been fed.
It is simply pulling out a chair for the parts you used to hide,
And letting the shadow sit peacefully by your side.
Acknowledge the storm, the ugly, and the grey,
Give them a seat at the table, then continue on your way.
You are not a single note, but the symphony they make—
Whole not because you’re perfect, but for every breath you take.
So tell me, now that the house is open and the light is stable,
Will you finally give them a seat at your table?
Apr 27
Apr 27, 2026 at 9:31 PM UTC