They call it strange—this habit of speaking aloud, to oneself, thinking alone, and questioning everything. But science has spoken: those who talk to themselves sharpen their minds, embrace chaos, and thrive on challenge. This poem is a tribute to the self-speakers, the deep thinkers, the quiet geniuses who refuse to silence their brilliance.
 

They point, they whisper, they call it absurd—
Ye...

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In a world where success seems reserved for the cunning and the ruthless, I am the world’s biggest loser—the one who rises each morning, goes to work, and takes pride in self-reliance, while many take the easy route, relying on welfare or cutting corners. I shoulder my responsibilities, pay my bills, meet every expectation, and treat others with respect, only to watch those who ignore these values...

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In the stillness, 

My tongue tastes each sip 

of my coffee

In the stillness,

My teeth grind every bite

of my food

In the stillness, 

My eyes linger over each word 

I read

In the stillness, 

My fingers 

languorously write every letter

In the stillness,

My hands slowly 

color each petal

In the stillness,

My heart speaks

And 

I hear my thoughts

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You only really win, having lost.

On the front lawn, all is identical until you notice it.

Every other blade you see its 50 shades greener than your own.

Those shades depend on light. Those blades gleam off light refracted.

Interesting...
Who has the light?

Every day you look, you stare, you glare

with a drink, with a book, with a chair, with a care.

Your care, carelessly, mi...

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