“I think writers are the most narcissistic people. We, I musn't say this, I like many of them, a great many of my friends are writers.” - Sylvia Plath



We're all the same. Everyone faces every emotion. Everyone is capable of reflection. Not everyone uses these facets though. 

We are water. We are malleable and hard to contain. We reflect what's around us. We have unknown depths - depth that can be scary to dive into, but is ultimately more interesting than any surface ripple. 


I’ve realized 


Shouldn’t be beautiful

Or well crafted

Like carved stone

It should be free

Honest and pure 

Like spilled wine

Writing releases wounds

And allows them to close

Without burdening others 

Or over-privileging a fleeting thought

I write to be free 

So you will not judge me 


Is not knowing any answer except why

No who what where or when or even how

Find the why and you will find faith



Civil I am 


I am not civil



Cemeteries are sad. Not in a creepy death way, but in a frozen time way. It's stagnant. It's human life turned into statues. Memories into stone. I don't wanna be remembered as cement. I want my life to be passed on and used again. Why should we put decaying fabrics six feet under I'm an effort to preserve an already dead body. A gravestone isn't a person. That person stays in the hearts and memories of loved ones, not under the ground. So why not give those lifeless limbs to a wounded soldier or accident victim. Why not spread the shadows of their life where they lived and loved, rather than an expensively designated patch of grass amongst skeletal strangers. Carve my name into my favorite tree so that I'm alive every time that tree blooms. Don't leave my name on cold cement. Let me see the world and wander. Don't let your last vision of me be lifeless.


Surrounded by leafy green trees

Dancing in the breeze

They wave at me

Letting their branches move freely

I smile at them

And join in their freedom 

We bask together 

As the sun blesses another



I’m so scared of failure. I’m scared of the whispers that will tell you I was a waste of time. I’m scared I'll spend all of my time and I will amount to nothing. Isn't to exist to be more than nothing in its very nature? Could my potential outweigh my production? Is it in my nature to be productive? I will just be me. Whatever that may be. There is no guarantee. But I want to matter. Perhaps for narcissistic reasons. If I don't matter to everyone else then why would I matter at all? If I don't make a difference then why should I exist at all? Maybe my purpose is to create someone, rather than something, who exists. Can one not matter only to oneself and that be sufficient?



meaning of life

why are we here

whats the good life

and what does it look like

why do we suffer

would life be better without suffering 

what makes humanity distinct from other mammals

whats the purpose of life -

self-serving to the whole of humanity, to benefit others

we accept the reality with which we are presented



Education only provides

The key terms

To unlock

The knowledge

You already possessed



Your voice scratches my soul

Days pass like lies I can't keep



to travel through space and time? fly on a plane to a new zone with different customs from another path of life. We feel so strongly when we enter other worlds - whether appreciation for our own out of lack of understanding or envy of a simpler or richer lifestyle. To step into a slower passage of time, filled with passive sips and intimate conversation. or to allow yourself to be sucked up by the energy that swirls in the hundreds, millions, of souls darting around you in search of something. this change in time, place and norms is a change in your brain. the connections you make in the external shape your thought patterns. are we simply our surroundings?



maybe every allah, prophet, god and goddess are a facet of the Being, in which every individual experiences a part of the goodness, power and sovereignty that is our creator



I’m for once thankful for your snoring 
As it snaps my brain back to reality
And out of the garish and anxious state it slips into each night when the lights go out
It’s as if the lights are also turned off upstairs in my brain 
And the doors are locked and shop is closed
The workers are no longer there to tidy up and keep things in order
With nobody to sort my thoughts they creep out of catalogues
With nobody to dust the shelves, words and ideas slither out of place
They dance in new pairings and create casualties of peace piece by piece 
Memories and questions that had been sealed away slip into the foreground to fool around
They tango together, taking turns leading and warping into each other
The dance overtakes me as I fall asleep
Until your loud snore sounds the alarm that reality has not been altered 
And all of a sudden these thoughts reprimand themselves and return to order 



I share the thoughts of many

Some here and others there

With everyone I can agree and disagree 

For that is the nature of humanity

If you cannot find likeness with another

Then you do not know them truly

Or yourself entirely

To better know one's self

One must study the other

For only through comparison

Do we find definition and clarity

I see your insanity

And I recognize my own humanity

In each other we find humility

And a bit of serendipity

The fragile ego is all we have

Until we see beyond the self

And accept our responsibility

To each and every other

For if every action 

There is an equal and opposite


Then what action

Will you take

What difference

Can you make


I can vow not to hate

I can acknowledge

My mistake

For privilege

Is not the greatest fate




I have a hard time listening
When you read aloud to me
I prefer to watch
Your face lights up and crinkles
You add the personality to poetry
And aren't afraid to say
You don't know a word
Normally I would cringe
When one bends back the book spine
But with you, I watch happily
And listen to your empathy
For the man in the love poem
Who is waiting for his wife at home



A tidy mind Is sprung forth

From a messy home 

Thoughts go in boxes 


To give space 

For new thoughts

To roam the halls

Since I’m stuck

In this room

Full of chaos

A room of one's own

Is all that you own

A mind of your own

So keep it tidy

And sort the chaos