I’m just a nice guy, who likes to write poetry, random thoughts, and other stuff when I am feeling happy, sad, annoyed (although more often the two former). Kindness is a virtue and my number one priority. However, it does come at a price.

No one sees you as anyone else. When they come across it, they may react with shock, looking for an escape, or just stop contact altogether.

Even despite this, I personally believe being kind, completely kind, without any motive or concern apart from being a kind person is the most important thing. I will continue to do so. Even when I don’t want to.


I apologise, unapologetically, that some poems here will be dark. I mean dark. Maybe people may relate, maybe understand, I hope they may relieve some stress or tensions, but writing I think does it for me. So I do so unapologetically.


One of the biggest reluctances in writing this, for those who know me, it’s that I have cultivated a persona, being ‘nice’, always happy and smiling and never feeling ‘down’. May I add that this is all true. But a select few (un/fortunately) get to see another side. A side where I can’t cope with a pretense I put on even when things are not okay.

This leads to a dilemma that will not have been solved, even while those of you who know me, read this. The shock, the reluctance to accept, or see this other side. Which is the main motivation for not showing, for pretending everything’s okay when it’s not. Something I’ve gotten used to since feelings like this have occurred (from what I can place is secondary school). Hiding from family, the majority of friends, and everyone else.

Those who do get to see this other side, often, (I say often, I really mean always, even when they don’t, I see it as they do) resort to leaving, hiding, until I put up the pretense that they are happy to deal with and ignore than any other side exists.

One hard aspect, is that, I accept people for all personas, the happy I am happy for, but the sad and down I am supportive and always willing to talk and help out. I am probably wrong (and know this), but feel like everyone else is reluctant to see me other than the persona, the portrayal of everything being okay.

If that’s the way it is, then I’ll continue. But it’s a very confusing, deep issue of identity. Of (to steal a term from my academic studies) ‘passing’.


Poems that I’ve written to show this,