I wish my face was a mirror,
not to see myself, but you,
would wear your smile and laughter,
had these beautiful brown eyes too.

I wish my voice was an echo,
a whisper of your words,
not my own clumsy syllables,
but the warm sound a soul prefers.

I wish I moved the way you do,
effortless, not thinking twice.
Then maybe I’d have your charm,
and spoke with ease to anyone.

But if I were your echo,
your reflection, your twin,
the world would see me,
But,
would you?

My thoughts aren’t really mine,
they were planted inside my mind.

Just like my feelings aren’t mine,
they just follow what’s called right.

Neither is my face mine,
a mixture of all ancestors.

My body also isn’t mine,
it will die and decompose.

Nothing I own belongs to me,
I will lose it all when I die.

And if none of these things is my own,
then,
who am I?

A child doesn't judge,
A child isn't double-faced.
A child tells the truth
Without disguise.

A child is fascinated
By the smallest wonders.
It sees magic in the stars,
The tiny bug on the flower,
And a face in the clouds.

A child starts to dance
When the music plays,
Doesn't care about
What others think.
Draws the sun in the corner
With a smiling face,
Waves to planes passing by,
And cries when it's scared.

A child is the only human
Living almost free.
That is why we should try
To be a little more like a child.

To all my never-finished poems,
don't think you are of less worth,
because I gave up on you,
I couldn’t keep writing,
not because I didn’t care,
but because,
there wasn't more to say.

To all my never-finished poems,
you carry so many thoughts of mine,
so many ideas that once seemed great.
So much pain, because I didn't know,
what I was supposed to write,
so the best thing to do,
was to let go.

Maybe that's how you are meant to be,
just a concept, never completed.
Perhaps that's just the way it is,
I can't force you,
can't force a poem.

How strange it feels, to just be human,
To dream and think in endless loops.
How odd it is, to move a body,
This flesh and bone, in shifting groups.

How weird it is, that I am me,
Out of eight billion different lives.
I wish I could find answers to,
the questions, keeping me up all night.

How wonderful that my mind is free,
Can think about endless mysteries,
But soon the mind begins to drown,
Aching in its own boundaries.

Apologies,
Just words,
Words anyone could say.
Did you really mean it?
You say you did,
but why did you do it again?

Please don't say sorry,
While pretending to feel regret.
Thinking after just one word,
Everything will be fine,
That three simple words,
Will change how I see you now.

But I can't.

How are words supposed to erase
The pain, tears, and scars,
already made?