#makebelieve
What do you see, little guy?
I've seen you watch from your tea cup
Has anything caught your eye?
My mother makes her bread on the counter
Where you lie
I'm sure you've noticed my sister
Her little voice and her little lisp
Brother is constantly near you
He can never turn down a meal that's crisp
His love, his dog, have you seen her limp?
She flips and yaps at the sight of a disc
And what of my father, what do you know?
Joyful or mad or factual
You have heard him bellow
What do I call you, little watcher?
You have made the ants timid
Just an inch stronger
Will you enjoy our company?
I hear you giggle when you think there is no one to bother
You can stay a while
And enjoy our humor
We might even seat you at our table
Our little intruder
You keep our china company
To turn you away, why, we couldn't be ruder!
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 11:36 PM UTC
I turned 45 a few days ago,
Does that make me old?!
I wish I was still 32,
Does that make delusional - millennial?!
But the truth is, I am a six-year-old,
Playing dress-ups and make-believe in the cubby under the stairs —
I will always live like Peter Pan,
When the world tries to cheat my cheekiness;
And beat out my innocence
I will 'think of the happiest things' as 'it's the same as having wings!'
Nov 14, 2025
Nov 14, 2025 at 7:17 PM UTC
we pretended, and we were good at it,
weren't we
so good at it
i started to believe it for real
our make believe
you made me believe
Oct 28, 2025
Oct 28, 2025 at 10:50 PM UTC
“The least of these shall not speak the name of Gods unless commanded to do so. Do not call upon the Gods. They shall call upon you.”
That means money. Shekels. Coin. Tax.
Cash in the God’s hands meant opportunity to work in order to provide more.
Some call it prison.
The God’s call it respect.
“The least of these will remain silent in the Days of the Great Return. Once he has descended onto the fold, your mouth shall dance with flavor. You shall be anointed with the grace of the Prodigal Son. The One who knows. The All Father. The seeing eye.”
Jul 25, 2025
Jul 25, 2025 at 11:43 PM UTC
as I am trying to learn as much as I can
from the self of trees, wind, of bees and birds
of the unlanguaged child I still am, from
wise men and women through the arch of time
I am well aware that we can keep each other captive
inside the machinery of make-believe that makes lonely
bodies & sunsets bearable
I can't help feeling I am just this,
a vagabond in such a deep mystery
Jul 17, 2023
Jul 17, 2023 at 6:40 AM UTC
You thought you'd left the days of make believe behind by the time you were nine.
And yet, years later, here you are
making yourself believe you'll be okay
so you can make your baby believe the same.
Somewhere along the way,
we seem to correlate imagination
with maturity.
But what if it has less to do with growing up and more to do with surviving?
What if it's a defense mechanism?
Jul 23, 2022
Jul 23, 2022 at 9:33 PM UTC
I use make-believe
overwriting memory
it brings me some peace
The fiction I’ve weaved
you’re at the store - you wouldn’t leave
is a fool’s relief
So I take mine neat
sweet ****** of self-deceit
my strange trick or treat
Oct 22, 2021
Oct 22, 2021 at 10:17 PM UTC
I dreamt of memories we had,
while gazing at the mundane downpour of the rain
as each splatter plummets to the ground;
I slowly realized that it wasn't "us" who had them
It's just me longing for you...
Waiting underneath the summer rain, trying to mend;
I, who was in vain
If our realities weren't such a pain,
maybe our love---no, my love for you
could blossom along with yours;
Instead of enduring the agony
of being unloved by this fictitious you
Apr 9, 2021
Apr 9, 2021 at 6:01 AM UTC
Isn't it messed up
The way I only feel like somebody
The only time I truly feel real
Is when I'm someone else
In a daydream that never ends
The concept of me, of now
Is so far and distant
It echos from somewhere deep inside me
Somewhere I can't find
Somewhere I don't look
How can I do or be what's expected of me
When that person doesn't exist
How can I be the perfect child
When the only freedom I've ever known
Is when I lock myself in my minds cage?
How can I comfort someone
When all I know are phantom hugs?
How do I feel success
When every accomplishment I've achieved
Has never been enough?
What future do I look to
When all my dreams are trampled on
By people who can't see what I do, but know better
Why is life only worth living
When I block it out with make-believe?
Mar 5, 2021
Mar 5, 2021 at 3:45 AM UTC
Il est 1h27 du matin à Dakar
Debout sur le balcon; un désir d'aventurier de l'inconnu m'envahit, de celle qui s'échappe du temps et de la terre mère qui l'étouffe ensevelie sous son noyau.
Le vent me caressant le visage, je l'entend m'inviter à l'hymne de ma liberté. Le bruit des avions m'emportent dans un monde d'aisance et d'émancipation, l'échos des Zikrs me tirent vers ma raison profonde et ma familiarité.
Je ferme les yeux en proie à la nostalgie. Essayant de me souvenir des beaux moments de ma vie; le vent me berce dans l'abstrait où mon âme se jette dans l'aura poétique de la magie des rêves.
Le marchand des rêves m'emporte sur une plage éclairée par la claire de lune et un feu de camp; jouissant d'un ciel dégagé et très étoilé.
La brise me mets à nu devant ses caresses ardentes et m'enivre de son odeur. Je me laisse flotter sur ses ondes.
Le sable en velours réchauffant mes pieds au rythme d'un Samba; riant de toute mon âme et transpirant au rythme de la danse. Nos âmes se transforment en une unité d'énergie donnant naissance à un cycle d'existence de désirs.
Je me confie à mon instinct comme pour consoler mon amour.
A l'horizon, la morosité morbide condamnée dans le concret. Aimant ardemment et follement cet abstrait merveilleux qui me berce.
Qui berce cet amour non réclamé, et cette liberté condamnée. Qui depuis longtemps poussent leur barque fragile à bout de force.
Aussi romantique que la poésie, je danse amoureusement et passionnément avec l'inconnu de mes pensées. Et dans cette passion insensée, de l'infini sublime rêve que cherche l'esprit, la réalité envahit l'abstrait et en fait un asile.
Un asile qui éveille mon cœur à chaque moment d'inattention ou de solitude. Un asile qui m'ouvre ses portes à ses extases fantaisistes quand l'ivresse de la réalité devient lourde et étouffante.
Feb 17, 2021
Feb 17, 2021 at 9:52 AM UTC
I
remember a time
when an imaginary friend
was real
and portable phones were
make believe
Feb 11, 2020
Feb 11, 2020 at 2:44 PM UTC
I knew for sure there was no guarantee
But what's the harm if I agree
For a few seconds
That what I see
Is more than just make believe
Nov 18, 2019
Nov 18, 2019 at 11:26 PM UTC
Why are you doing this to me?
Making me wait anxiously for your replies
Making me worry by telling me lies
Lies like you're fine, and you're okay
While your eye says otherwise
Why are you making things so complicated?
Making me question whether it's coincidence or fated
Making me wonder, are we really connected
Or are we just two lost souls longing to be accepted
You see, I don't even know what's happening to me
I don't know what we are and neither what we'll be
I myself am not even sure if there really is a 'we'
Or is it just a make-believe story I made in my fantasy
Oct 8, 2019
Oct 8, 2019 at 10:36 PM UTC
On a slow summer evening,
cherry-stained and giggling,
I sit on one side of the porch and
you both on the other though
it is going to take you two, with
your green eyes and red fingers like
chapstick or popsicles, 100
days in a fast space ship to reach me.
Hopefully the cherries you’re bringing
along won’t spoil before you arrive
on my alien planet (alien though
you share more of my
molecular makeup than any others)
and in return I’ll show you some new
creation but in all fairness I should
be thanking you for who I am
because it was, after all,
you two who shaped me.
Apr 16, 2019
Apr 16, 2019 at 11:53 AM UTC
There were parts of you I didn't like
So sometimes I pretended they weren't there
I made believe there were parts of you I couldn't live without
But one day I was looking for those parts of you
And all I saw were the parts I couldn't stand
Slowly I began to realise that you were only full of make-believe
Those parts I loved
Were never real
Neither was our love
You can't love what isn't there
Dec 8, 2018
Dec 8, 2018 at 7:29 PM UTC
You and I were never real
We were just kids who played pretend
Oct 28, 2018
Oct 28, 2018 at 2:00 AM UTC
They used to spend their time at IKEA every time they were together.
She remembered pointing her finger at one of the couches.
She said she wanted to buy it and put it in their room.
She couldn’t erase the memory of his smile after she said that.
They were too in love.
They started to make believe, holding on to what ifs.
As they passed by one of the garden swings,
he stopped and grabbed her hand.
"One day I'll build a garden behind our house.
I know you love swings. I’ll plant some trees.
We can spend our time there.
I know you'll love it
and I will too."
She could hear the excitement in his voice.
She hugged him nonchalantly,
a big grin plastered across her face.
A year passed.
She was scrolling through her Instagram
when she saw it,
the swing they had always wanted,
a tree planted right beside it,
and another girl sitting next to him.
Oct 3, 2018
Oct 3, 2018 at 8:20 AM UTC
All land begins
underneath these feet:
a merry makebelieve.
Jump
and catch a glimpse of Arabia
in red,
Birkenhead
in yellowish-grey,
Berlin's fading rainbow..
all lacking in depth like
floaters,
like foreign pain,
like your very first birthday.
Don't they?
Spend days in suspension,
don't you?
Well, look around!
You see ahead
and back
are much the same
when all is round.
And all IS round!
Unless of course,
you're
on the ground
where a single wave can
****
Doubtless fun,
boundless thrill, all
but for a price!
Here
even cloudy sunsets imply
sacrifice.
And at nights
perfect darkness never dwells,
Some devilry always tells the time
in mocking ways:
Jump
and you're on holidays,
divorced from all necessity,
sleeping in the sun
for days an altogether different
beast,
electrified,
with sandbagged veins.
At least not dead,
I hear you say.
How cute..
Alas! the price you pay for
being oh so futile is per se
a snide;
So pick your cherries and throw them
in that tide!
You know the lights in this harbour never return
in a straight line
May craft and the shimmering power
not let you be
the fog in the rye,
or the rock's inside.
You are round and everything
is your equal.
So consider your battles well.
Jul 11, 2018
Jul 11, 2018 at 5:14 AM UTC
Let's play make believe
Where I can pretend that you're mine
For a minute
Even it's merely adequate
I will dress myself beautifully
So, everyone will agree
I'm worthy
By your side,
I look like a bride
Hence, when you dally with me
You will look to no one, but me
Because, that's the sole time
You call me, dear, without grime
Even it's just a made believe,
That last in Christmas eve
It's worth to achieve
Because you'll never become mine
Jun 23, 2018
Jun 23, 2018 at 11:50 AM UTC
Scraped up knees
And muddy boots;
Denim overalls
And the bow she shoots.
She’s known for climbing trees
And running loose;
Facing adventure with ease,
And putting her imagination to good use.
A little girl in a Big Boy’s world,
She always knew she didn’t fit in.
Trying to be like other girls felt like wearing somebody else’s skin.
She’d tried donning dresses, tried keeping her hair softly curled,
But felt much more comfortable as a cowboy with a bottle of gin,
Or as Bilbo Baggins’ long-lost twin.
Daddy never called her “Princess”,
Never referred to her as “Doll”.
Not because He saw her as anything less–
Because He knew she wouldn’t like that at all!
She’d never been your typical “Damsel in Distress”,
Never needed a Prince to climb any tower wall.
There was never a Knight in Shining Armor who could impress–
She’d leap from the tower herself, even if it meant a painful fall!
“Princesses don’t see enough action,”
She always would insist,
“They’re prissy and boring and helpless,
And always waiting around to be kissed!
I need adventure and excitement to be my distraction.
What others think, I couldn’t care less;
I don’t need a man in order to exist!”
Daddy always knew she wasn’t like the other girls,
But that she was happy with who she was.
He never saw her differences
As any sort of flaws.
Never would he exchange her boots and flannels
For the typical lace and pearls.
She was wonderfully perfect;
Her quirks never gave Him pause.
In fact, He loved them,
Celebrating them with boisterous and adoring applause.
She would much rather be a Pirate Captain,
Sailing the seven seas,
Than a maiden dressed in satin
Who startles at the sound of a sneeze.
Her heart was that of an Elven Warrior,
Renowned for her bravery and strength.
Unlike a princess who balked in horror
When faced with a difficulty of any length.
She was made to be a Viking Hero
Who helped save her country at war,
Not a foolish damsel whose experience is zero,
And who faints at the thought of gore.
A Superhero who battles against evil
And rescues this world from certain doom
Was much more appealing than a ballerina regal
Who sits waiting for her groom.
Even a Jedi Knight who dies in battle
Was a much better fate
Than that of the Queen of a castle
Who never steps beyond her front gate.
A zombie slayer, a vampire hunter–
That’s who she was, and wanted to be!
A princess’ average luxury and luster
Didn’t fit her adventurous fantasy.
She was a unique treasure, something rarely found,
And to be clumped in with all the rest would be to see her spirit bound.
The only Princess she’d ever been
Was a Space Princess who could hold her own.
Pink was never a color she’d be willingly caught in,
And she refused to become just another “basic girl” clone.
Daddy loved her different, and held her differently.
He wanted her to know that she was cherished,
And that He was always listening intently.
He would never call her “Princess”,
For she’d feel her dreams had perished,
So instead He called her “Captain”,
Speaking to her ever-so gently.
If she wanted to be a Pirate,
She knew she was free to be.
If today she chose the life of a Paladin,
She always knew her Daddy would see.
If she desired to become a zombie-fighting tyrant,
Daddy asked if he could join her team.
He’d help her train as a bow-wielding assassin,
And push her to be the best that she could be.
He would never change her
Or make her into something she was not.
He would meet her where she was,
And by His example, she was always taught
To be comfortable with who she was, and to always be sure
That what she did was done with excellence,
And to give everything honest thought,
So the battles she fought were always for the highest cause.
Mar 13, 2018
Mar 13, 2018 at 8:47 PM UTC
I don't know who she is,
but I can make
believe the truth.
She’s a princess
Of an island
Somewhere right outside Peru.
She’s the daughter
Of a grand king
And a lovely queen too.
I imagine
A long line
Of men who’d want to pursue
The fair maiden
the heiress
Of a throne she’ll soon assume.
She’ll rule with power and grace,
A smile on her face,
Kindness in her heart,
She’ll give the kingdom a new start.
Though some may doubt,
I know that's who she'll be.
Even if she's not,
She'll always be a princess to me.
Mar 5, 2018
Mar 5, 2018 at 11:26 PM UTC
-Undiagnosed-
Pray, don’t pity me,
For I do take blame
That I pity myself
And thus suffer this pain,
And please don’t mock
For there are greater ills
And more the deaths,
My suffering is nil.
Then perhaps
You’d maim my diet,
The lack of sun and
Poor exercise.
I need not even ask
How I’d improve my life,
When the bones sap my vigor
and seem to swell overnight.
And how could I ever try to say
That I see darkness when I go my way,
Pins and needles as I stand,
When the fault is mine anyway?
I shouldn’t even start to think
How my head throbs and pounds all night,
It’s surely because I don’t wake up with the sun.
But how do I wake when I don’t close my eyes?
Now, could it possibly be
You decided that I don’t rest,
That all this pain causes fatigue,
That sleep, you think, is for the best?
Consider when after hours and hours
My body finally dreams in defeat,
Would anyone care to do my work
If I shirk it off to get more sleep?
If the animals end up ill fed,
And the duties are not supervised,
With what peace do I lie in bed,
When it could be done better otherwise?
And so here I do write at six,
With my jaw stiff and eyes bright,
The wires of pain gently shift
Every time I move my hand to write.
What could I wake anyone for,
When painkillers don’t **** enough?
Just to say I cannot sleep?
I’d hear ‘wake up then, be tough’.
So do not again
Bid me to be strong,
Unless you tell the blind to see.
Well dear sir,
There’s no argument for that,
Except, please let me be.
What indeed could you try to cure
When I’m just deficiencies,
Of wit and courage, also strength,
Calcium may be imaginary.
But truly, I do agree,
With the opinion you selflessly endure.
For evidently
Nothing’s wrong with me,
And the pain one must learn to ignore.
Feb 17, 2018
Feb 17, 2018 at 11:44 AM UTC