#disguises
Sometimes I watch the others,
So comfortable in their skins
Of whatever form they've chosen,
Or miraculously been blessed with,
And remain a passive observer
Of the beauty before me.
I view their spirit animal forms,
Alongside the incarnations of gods,
and goddesses, and other holy beings,
Dance across their human flesh.
When viewed closely I can see
The smallest units of infinity
Struggling to expand, sometimes succeeding,
Other times dying and quickly vanishing,
To be suddenly replaced by elements
Of others, or the world around them.
They are cloaked in visions
My words can't comprehend,
Which I have heard some call yugen.
Other times I find myself
Wanting to join in with the excitement;
I flit between the disguises that
I have made for myself, in
An effort to seamlessly fit in
Unzipping one skin as discreetly as possible,
and hastily pulling on the next
As I rush from group to group,
Hoping nobody sees who lies within.
I have no concept of my own beauty.
Mirrors do nothing to help, being
designed to only reflect a physical presence.
I suppose that- to a piece of glass-
An eyebrow is just an eyebrow,
And lips are just lips.
If you could see beneath the reflections
Of your own selves I had tried to create,
I am afraid of what you might see
The bitterness that lies beneath.
My multiple façades sometimes breaks free,
And slowly breaks whoever is before me,
Causing mouths to form wide O's of horror,
Or else silences them completely.
This skin I inhabit is not my home-
I appreciate it's gloriousness and accept,
As I do in others, the meanest emotions it conceals,
And treat it as I would any other. I
Wish it no harm, and would be loath
To abandon it on some distant kerb
Like an unloved pet.
My Celtic forefathers had a word to describe this;
"Hiraeth"- a longing for a home that never was,
Or a place one can only recall in distant
Memories; unrecountable to those who
Never knew of its existence to begin with.
Maybe the skins I wear are part
Of my journey home; pupating like
A moth who longs to search for the light,
Yet lacking the wings to do so.
Perhaps they are only walls of my
Own devising, covering the window
To my own soul, that writhes inside
Like some contorted navel.
All I know is that the parts of you
I have stolen, or borrowed, or bought,
Or acquired through other means
Are the closest to home I have ever been,
Enabling me, in those brief moments,
To view the homes you keep within yourselves,
Until you reach out and touch me,
Causing me to run away, tail between legs,
Before my true self can be seen.
May 23, 2016
May 23, 2016 at 12:28 PM UTC
Somewhere is a coward still in the closet ,
or laying next to you in the bed.
The biggest cowards are disguised in uniform
Powerful cowards on pedal stools,hidden in congress.
Most cowards often promise to be lovers
but will run when you sing their name
cowards holding hands
rubbing their" happiness" in your face
cowards who were supposed to be parents
cowards who promised to be friends
careless cowards who wanted commitment
but never saw it through till the end
cowards buying flowers
cowards falling in love
there are cowards 6 feet under
yet some cowards make it above
I see a coward in the mirror
There is a coward in all of us
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 3:33 PM UTC
Some disguises aren't meant to be revealed
Some thoughts aren't meant to be spared
Some beasts aren't meant to be chaotic
Some evenings aren't meant to be charming
Some paintings aren't meant to be catchy
Some belongings aren't meant to be buried
Some flowers aren't meant to be favourites
Some incidents aren't meant to be happening
Some people aren't meant to be suffering
May 31, 2019
May 31, 2019 at 9:40 AM UTC
Entering the room, you'd notice
the faces are young hopefuls,
or old amateurs.
Each know a handful of material,
and are desperate to play
the entirety of it.
Eager to play jazz.
Frantic cacophony
in sweet harmony,
confidence and innocence
as common bedfellow.
What they lack in form,
meter, and style
they fill with a pain
hidden under confidence.
Innocence.
Jul 19, 2015
Jul 19, 2015 at 9:07 PM UTC
Who am I?
Who should I be?
What makes me me, what do others see?
Who am I?
A broken man?
Shattered and weak, unable to stand?
Who am I?
Lost and alone?
Have I misplaced the light that You have shown?
Who am I?
Just a small, dreary soul?
Have I given up hope; have I lost all control?
Feb 11, 2014
Feb 11, 2014 at 4:27 AM UTC
Fall is having something of a moment - in Paris - from what I hear.
Me? I’m enjoying some large-group foundational instruction, small-group clinical tutorials, and what they call ‘dense-coursework’ because endless memorization and scientific concept acquisition isn’t dense at all.
Peter’s in Paris for goods, Woot!
And lucky him, he’s adjusting to waking up
to ‘Betty (Get Money) by Yung Gravy,’
blasting from my Sonos One speaker at 6am
right after Charles and I finish our morning 5k.
I’m trying to be present for him, to atone for endless studies.
My diary charts my intentions, anyway, like satirical epistolaries.
Now that Peter’s in Paris, he seems “S” obsessed!
I didn’t tell him, “Wait, isn’t that what A.I. is for?”
No, I go to minimal lengths to discourage him,
for we’re each other’s raw materials, are we not?
Shakespeare, a man who obviously spent a lot of his time on the Internet. Wrote about that very specific, emotional-space and little else. He disguised it, of course, with ****** allusions, drunken sword fights, mistaken identities and sick-burns - but it’s all there.
****** gender-bending, sneaking around, and jesters spilling blunt truths about “appetites.”
But he presented it all as real, human and normal - signaling pleasures full of breathing, tasting, feeling, and the overt-expression of ****** actions - he was a man ahead of his time - made for social media.
Of course, you can’t trust what a poet writes of love.
Not because of dissimulation, but because love is so exciting
- that the happening is all-consuming - and in the after-pauses, much is forgotten.
.
.
Songs for this:
Betty (Get Money) by Yung Gravy [E]
Man I Need by Olivia Dean
Bad Dreams by Teddy Swims
.
Yung Gravy = uhh he’z SO g.d cute and funny.
talking to Peter “If I didn’t have you, I’d stalk him to prove my love.”
Oct 3, 2025
Oct 3, 2025 at 9:44 AM UTC