It is hard being misunderstood,
Like a book written in a forgotten tongue.
Misunderstanding denies
The existence of identity,
Self and truth,
A erasure of the soul’s fingerprint.

Feeling misunderstood,
Is a feeling of non-acceptance
Of who we are,
A rejection of our inner landscape,
Mountains of experience flattened
By the bulldozer of presumption.

Accept or pass,
Don’t deny.

My misunderstandings are
Simple to understand,
Like clear water mistaken for air.

I am always a stranger,
A traveler in a land of familiar faces.
And I always become
A stranger,
Even to those closest
To me.

People sense the breath
Of depth,
An ocean beneath a still surface,
And assume intentions,
Sometimes they assume,
Bad intentions.

But the truth is
What they sense
Is an unfiltered directness,
A deeper meaning,
Waiting to be uncovered,
Like buried treasure beneath
The sands of superficiality.

There is no veil,
There is essence.

In this world of masks and mirrors,
I stand naked in my truth,
Unbreakable, a paradox.

Misunderstood, yes,
But in the quiet of self-knowledge,
I find the acceptance
The world often fails to give.

Filed under: 🜁 Self – tracing the inner landscapes of thought, feeling, and becoming.