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  • Only If I Wouldn’t End Up Loving You

    Only If I Wouldn’t End Up Loving You

    If I wouldn’t end up loving you,

    maybe I would have to hate myself

    for leaving you,

    for leaving your shadow

    on my side of the bed.

    If I wouldn’t end up loving you,

    maybe I would have to hate myself

    for deceiving you,

    for deleting your name

    and still typing it by mistake.

    Life still matters without you.

    It does.

    And maybe yours still matters

    without me.

    But maybe I would have to hate myself

    for letting you go,

    for watching your back

    become a memory.

    Maybe I would have to hate myself

    for forgetting you

    and remembering you anyway.

    Only if

    I wouldn’t end up loving you.

    Only if

    I wouldn’t end up loving you.

  • Pebble

    Pebble

    They mocked him.

    “You’re just a pebble.

    You don’t match our level.

    You will get lost

    mixed with gravel.”

    “If you were shiny,

    you would be picked.

    Cut.

    Polished.

    Worn close to someone’s heart.

    If you carried fossils,

    you would stand behind glass,

    labeled,

    lit,

    admired.”

    “But you?”

    “Just a pebble.”

    It said nothing.

    The river turned him.

    The sun dried him.

    Rain claimed him again.

    It belonged to whatever held him.

    No shine.

    No history.

    No display.

    Just weight.

    Just shape.

    Just silence.

    One day,

    a hand lifted him.

    For a moment

    it rested in a palm

    warm, uncertain.

    Then—

    the sky spun,

    and it surrendered to air.

    It entered the lake

    without argument.

    And the water answered.

    Not with applause.

    Not with glass.

    With ripples.

    Wide enough

    to touch both shores.

  • Makeshift Tent

    Makeshift Tent

    My heart

    was a makeshift tent.

    Not a fortress.

    Not concrete.

    Just fabric

    and faith

    and a few stubborn ropes.

    Wind-bent.

    Storm-bruised.

    It did not know

    how to hold a name

    without shaking.

    Someone once

    lit a fire inside it.

    And I let it burn.

    It rose into lava.

    Bright.

    Wild.

    Uncontained.

    She wanted porcelain.

    Polished mornings.

    Coffee that didn’t taste like smoke.

    I was wildfire.

    She wanted furniture.

    People parked their feelings outside my tent

    like temporary guests.

    I boiled noodles.

    Steam rising like hope.

    They ate.

    Left sketches in the dust.

    Drove away.

    The roof leaked.

    Cold stitched itself

    into my ribs.

    A mouse made a kingdom in the corner

    while I lay there

    pretending fabric

    was enough.

    Some came carrying blueprints.

    “If you choose us

    we will build you a mansion.”

    But I didn’t want marble.

    I wanted someone

    who could sit on the floor

    and share the rain.

    I praised the patience of a turtle

    while the world

    outran itself.

    Finally

    my feelings found a room.

    But the walls were thin.

    Eyes pressed against them.

    Voices turned my shelter

    into spectacle.

    Laser light through canvas.

    Sleep without rest.

    Days folding into days.

    And then…

    One morning

    there was no tent.

    No ropes.

    No fabric.

    No walls.

    Just sky.

    Endless.

    Unapologetic.

    Wide.

    I was afraid

    for a moment.

    Then the stars

    kept their distance

    but did not leave.

    My worries

    small as ash

    drifted.

    The night was big enough

    to hold everything

    I could not.

    So now

    I walk.

    Carrying rope.

    Carrying cloth.

    Carrying fire.

    Looking for ground

    soft enough

    for two.

  • Born to Become

    Born to Become

    do leaves wither

    without a cause

    or do they loosen their grip

    when the branch grows tired

    does love fade

    without a pause

    or does it dim slowly

    like a room forgetting its light

    do plants dance

    without wind

    or are they answering

    a touch we cannot see

    does the wind blow

    without reason

    or is it fleeing

    from an unseen fire

    why does ketchup

    not taste like sauce

    why does almost

    never taste like enough

    if i quit

    is it loss

    or just a doorway

    changing walls

    i was born to win

    not the race

    but the becoming

    if i burst

    throw me snow

    my heart has carried

    too much summer

    bruised by love

    bruised by kindness

    still

    i trust

    i was playing it cool

    cool like silence

    cool like pretending

    i was not running

    but you

    you ran

    you became first

    and i

    i am still here

    learning

    how to breathe

  • Unplugged

    Unplugged

    I know people

    who love to nag

    maybe they dont know

    maybe they think it is care

    but they pull

    and pull

    and pull

    like gravity with opinions

    some people brag

    wearing ego like a hanging tag

    i am so cool

    i can make you a fool

    my world

    my rules

    try opening their minds

    with tools

    metal tools

    mental tools

    borrowed tools

    push

    pull

    push

    pull

    no

    do not push them

    unless

    into a swimming pool

    ideology

    jumping from tool to tool

    today this

    tomorrow that

    how do you cultivate a farm

    with a mule

    that refuses

    to move

    nagging to get things done

    do this

    did you finish

    why not yet

    faster

    better

    more

    i am not a robot

    not freshly opened

    from a box

    i remember the suffocation

    inside the package

    inside expectation

    inside storage

    inside a long voyage

    on a silent ship

    just to arrive

    and be nagged again

    am i not human anymore

    more tasks

    more mental energy

    more

    i need a charge too

    not electricity

    silence

    space

    sunlight on skin

    pluck me now

    i bruise

    leave me rooted

    i grow

    sorry what

    i cant buy your insurance

    you could die anytime

    thank you

    for the reminder

    i was planning to live forever

    but right now

    i am alive

    i do not need

    to sign up

    and log out later

    just let me stay

    connected

    to myself

    am i still plugged

    or have i finally

    unplugged

    from the noise

    i am not a machine

    i am breath

    i am pulse

    i am soil

    that needs rest

    between harvests

    leave me

    human

  • Detect Five

    Detect Five

    List five things you do for fun.

    I do not do fun

    Fun

    does

    me

    Fun is a happening

    One breath

    borrowing

    the next

    It comes

    It goes

    Sometimes

    it waits

    I lean against a lamp post

    Look at my window

    Once

    it was there

    Waiting

    But by the time I reached it

    evening had already signed the sky

    The lamp lit

    Fun looked at me

    Smiled

    Vanished

    Fun is always running

    People chase it

    like there is a medal at the end of being alive

    And that is fine

    Me

    I walk

    Long enough

    to forget where I was going

    Then suddenly

    I check the map

    Where am I

    That

    That is my kind of fun

    Second

    I do not watch movies

    I watch people

    watching movies

    The gasp

    The laugh

    The silence before the twist

    I could watch the same film

    fifty thousand times

    with fifty thousand faces

    Not for the story

    For the ripple

    I have not tried fifty thousand yet

    I would like to keep my hair

    Sometimes

    I remember

    I am not a vampire

    I do not drink blood

    I drink reactions

    And finally

    I love standing beside someone

    who believes their fun

    is bigger than mine

    Because my fun

    does not shout

    It observes

    It wanders

    It arrives late

    And leaves smiling

    So

    Detect five

    If you can

  • To My Tourist Cat Friends

    To My Tourist Cat Friends

    If you could make your pet understand one thing, what would it be?

    If I could make you understand one thing,

    it would be this:

    I am not waiting to catch you.

    I am waiting to welcome you.

    You pass by my house

    like small, striped travelers,

    tails writing question marks in the air,

    eyes full of borrowed caution.

    I have not adopted you.

    You have not adopted me.

    We remain strangers

    separated by a few careful steps.

    Still, I place food outside

    with quiet hands.

    Not as bait.

    As an offering.

    Sometimes you do not come.

    Sometimes the birds arrive first,

    bold and unburdened,

    and carry away what was meant for you.

    And I wish I could tell you—

    Come at the right time.

    Come when the air is still.

    Come when my door is open

    and my heart is softer than the evening light.

    I will not chase you.

    I will not trap you.

    I only want you to know

    that this corner of the world

    means you no harm.

    It is a small thing—

    a bowl of food,

    a little patience,

    a distance respected.

    But it is given

    with love

    and kindness.

    And it will wait for you. 🐾

  • Digital Tears

    Digital Tears

    i learned early

    my real tears had no price

    so i upgraded

    now they ask

    what is the cost

    what version are you running

    how much pain fits

    inside one drop

    is it downloadable

    does it make people feel something

    does it make you feel lighter

    can i install it too

    does it come in colors

    will it fool my parents

    my lover

    will it look real

    at a funeral

    you must have a digital smile as well

    was it implanted

    or are you just ai

    do the tears fall

    or do they reverse

    before they reach your face

    what are they made of

    what do they taste like

    do you regret using them

    do you cry often

    or only when damage is detected

    they say stop

    you are going against nature

    you are breaking humanity

    will you stop

    or will you stand in court

    they say this will change cinema

    music

    artists will finally benefit

    what is your opinion

    so many questions

    circling my head

    sometimes i respond

    sometimes i crash

    to them

    it looks like digital tears

    but i have been crying for years

    long before the update

    long before anyone asked

    and even now

    the system still wants feedback

    before it lets me grieve

  • Hollow Tube of Dreams

    Hollow Tube of Dreams

    What’s your dream job?

    What if I say

    my dream job is simple,

    to belong to a community

    where I can give tenfold

    for every small thing

    they offer me.

    Smile.

    Yes, I said it.

    Love is the real work,

    even when the heart

    costs too much to repair.

    Maybe we do not need repair at all.

    Maybe we only need

    a repairing job.

    So what could it be?

    Perhaps I could fix

    the engine of my mind

    and redesign the interior of my heart,

    so my thoughts could race freely

    at three hundred and thirty miles an hour.

    A ride like that

    might make me proud

    or carry me

    to the other side of myself.

    What if my dream job

    is simply to kill mosquitoes with rackets?

    I could fight in the malaria campaign,

    a small hero with a plastic bat.

    Or guard the house

    from arrogant flies.

    Even small battles

    can save big lives.

    My dream job

    should be a place

    where kind and compassionate souls gather,

    where people guide me

    through their open windows of wisdom.

    I would measure the height,

    put on my jumpsuit,

    and learn how to leap.

    I dream of flying.

    So why not a job

    that lets me speak with birds,

    circling the sky beside them,

    trading secrets with the clouds?

    What gentle wizardry must I learn

    to transform myself

    into hills and mountains,

    rivers and trees?

    I want to float

    in a place

    where the body becomes a hollow tube

    and I exist only as thought

    and memory.

    I want a dream job

    that keeps me fit,

    healthy, and strong.

    People say,

    join a gym,

    be a trainer.

    Others say,

    you need muscles for politics.

    So I imagine

    pasting muscles on my body

    like stickers.

    But fake muscles

    and fake promises

    never make a cake softer.

    My dream job

    is to be the cherry

    on top of the cake,

    catching every eye,

    sweetening every tongue.

    Or maybe

    I can be the cake itself,

    arriving in every home,

    living inside celebrations,

    inside laughter and tears,

    inside memories that never fade.

    Yes, celebrate this moment.

    My wizard power returns.

    I transform myself

    into a cake.

    Some feelings

    do not need to be baked.

    My emotions

    are not fake.

    Something taps on my mind.

    It is six o’clock, my friend.

    Time to wake.

  • A Human Big Enough

    A Human Big Enough

    What makes a good leader?

    good question

    for me

    replace what with you

    remove the extra noise

    and the answer stands up

    a good leader speaks clear

    no secret doors

    no private subtitles

    just honest daylight

    good is only a word

    waiting for the right shoulders

    but these days

    people wear it like a sticker

    and quietly peel it off

    when nobody is looking

    you cannot build a leader

    from spare parts and loud promises

    no ego

    only humility

    patience

    down to earth

    a small flame of spirit

    if I list every quality

    I might sound like a machine

    trying to learn how to breathe

    but a leader is simple

    someone you can trust with your vote

    someone ready to sit on your boat

    when the river grows teeth

    someone brave enough

    to drag the sewage of society to court

    and not wash their hands afterward

    some believe a leader must be cold

    empty of emotion

    all rules and iron shoes

    others imagine a compassionate one

    building skyscrapers of happiness

    where people can see their future

    through clean glass

    education without chains

    health without fear

    helping people stand again

    on their own two feet

    a leader who makes you pause

    before throwing rubbish on the street

    as if the trash itself

    could look back at you

    and ask why

    a leader shining like a quiet gem

    stitched into the flag

    stitched into the map

    stitched into the daily bread of people

    feet deep in the soil

    head knocking on the stars

    a good leader

    is not a throne

    not a loud microphone

    not a heavy crown

    just a human being

    big enough to carry others

    without trying to look tall

    a good leader

    could invite aliens for dinner

    and somehow

    everyone at the table

    would feel at home