Reality,
always neutral,
does not decide.
It does not wait.
It moves on.
It is the mirror,
the now of the soul
waiting to be reflected.
Too warm
or too cold,
our judgments
blur us,
and we see nothing.
We seek
in consciousness
an even clearer
mirror…
Or we follow
our reflection
on a screen
that sells us
who we are not.
After all,
what is the temperature
of your soul?
5d ago
May 29, 2026 at 6:45 PM UTC
Impermanent…
sometimes without cause,
it lets itself burn
until it fades.
In essence,
neither white nor black —
only shades of gray.
Not a word,
not suspended particles…
“smoke” to you,
and to others,
only clouds.
And in the end,
we are left only
with ashes of memories
washed by time;
and other fields
yet to germinate.
May 22
May 22, 2026 at 6:59 PM UTC
You are dead
when you set
life aside;
and with it,
your humanity.
Your lament falls
in every drop of rain.
Still, you go on
always drenched.
Nothing keeps you
from rising again…
but first, an umbrella.
May 15
May 15, 2026 at 3:30 PM UTC
Today I live
my best version:
poet, barista, family…
chasing after the years
that were lost long ago
without ever opening
into petals.
A farce of myself,
the shame of depending,
even while knowing
my fragile frailty —
so human.
I was shallow soil,
without the sap of intention,
where nothing blooms.
I believed myself to be
who I had always been,
without ever having lived
a single fragrance.
I did not trust the space
for the flower to bloom free…
but my tears,
without my knowing,
watered the field.
Forgive me,
those I disappointed
with my lovely garden
of artificial colors
and invented scents,
intact still,
though covered in dust.
And now…
I walk through the present,
I am discovering;
with each landscape,
I see more clearly
who I am.
May other landscapes
of this journey
grow within me —
and may that be enough.
May 10
May 10, 2026 at 9:45 AM UTC
We fear the droplets
of an infinite ocean;
the small nightmare
of drowning
in the vastness
that we are.
Adrift in a sea
we carry within us…
The force of the waves
must not be conquered;
we learn their rhythm
and learn to ride them
within ourselves.
And the whole sea
must be drunk
in drops of love,
until the salt
learns to turn crystal
and shine within us.
May 8
May 8, 2026 at 5:16 PM UTC
Crumbs of placebos,
so dear to us,
mark the path
of who we once were
and have become again.
Are they dreams
or merely duties
in disguise?
Disillusions,
faithful friends,
will return to us
by the same road
we ourselves have fed.
From mist to storm,
sweat washes the way;
sighs carry off
what once were stones.
We carry the false
like a weight
in our pockets.
We go on, lost,
choosing new placebos
that cost us everything —
and save nothing.
May 2
May 2, 2026 at 10:51 AM UTC
Words never spent
at torment’s gate,
voices never silenced
will not save you.
Once the tongue is severed,
only voices spat out remain,
wounds forever open.
Not even Cupid’s arrows—
the archer lies dead.
And the eternal burning,
flesh laid bare
to the salt of your tears…
pain, more alive still.
Apr 4
Apr 4, 2026 at 1:37 PM UTC
We are characters
in search of an author
to tell the story
of who we are not.
Not yet…
before we reveal ourselves
as a finished work.
And in thick pages,
their ink long dry,
that we dare revisit,
as errors in the writing.
Still,
we recognize ourselves
without ever becoming
the heroes of this story.
Mar 29
Mar 29, 2026 at 6:42 PM UTC
We are fear…
a dark abyss,
though shallow,
reflected in putrid water,
and in it, we lose ourselves.
Yesterday’s sun never came;
and tomorrow,
only barrenness.
We become dead roots
in the shadow
of a leafless tree.
Yet the wellspring,
which should have run dry,
keeps flowing,
dragging us along.
The salt of tears
scourges tender skin;
and beneath heavy scales,
we shield ourselves
from the silent lightning
of a cloudless sky.
And of the rainbow,
only red remains.
Mar 18
Mar 18, 2026 at 10:08 PM UTC
Surviving
each second
that isn’t yours,
that never asked
your permission
to exist.
What’s left
of your soul
is taken from you.
In the end,
little shade,
and the water
that remains.
The wine you drink,
sour sweat,
and the water you lack
are meant
for the flowers
already set aside
for when
you are ash.
Until
you awaken
before becoming
their soil.
And then,
drunk on life,
for the first time.
Mar 14
Mar 14, 2026 at 1:47 PM UTC