The Creature

There are some who walk through life  

as if wrapped in a fog of their own making,  

certain of every step  

yet unaware of the shape they cast.  

They speak with confidence,  

but never hear the echo.  

They move with purpose,  

but never notice the trail behind them,  

bent grass, startled birds, jumping grasshoppers,

the quiet hearts adjusting to their weather.  

They hold their truths like lanterns,  

believing the light is for others,  

never realizing it blinds them first.  

They do not see the way their words land,  

how they ripple through the room,  

how they settle into the soft places  

of those still learning their own names.  

They do not see the patterns,  

the certainty mistaken for kindness,  

the advice mistaken for care,  

the noise mistaken for love.  

And so, they wander,  

sure, of everything  

except themselves.  

The rest of the forest,

learns to read the shadows left,  

to grow around the places they cannot see,  

to understand that some people  

move through the world  

without ever meeting  

their own reflection.  

Words Matter