You see, I navigate the world like a cat in a dog park, 

With a GPS that only knows the route to my comfort zone.

Conversations are like trying to solve a Rubiks cube

While riding a rollercoaster;

Colourful, chaotic, and I’m holding on for dear life.

People say: “Just look me in the eye”

But my gaze is like a rare Pokémon…

Elusive and often hiding under the couch.

I prefer the depth of my own thoughts,

Where every idea is a universe spinning in its own orbit.

Don’t get me started on small talk.

It’s like trying to swim in a pool full of jelly.

“Nice weather today. So where are you from?”

My brain shouts: “Did you know octopuses have three hearts?”

But I nod, smile and do my best to reply. 

My mind is a playlist on shuffle.

Tunes bounce from Mozart to Metallica

While everyone else grooves to the latest pop hit. 

And I’m just here. Watching. 

Dancing to my own beat.

Social gatherings are like a game of hide and seek

Where I’m hiding in the snack corner,

Perfecting the art of avoiding eye contact.

Concentrating on munching crisps

As if they hold the secrets to the universe.

I might not always get the punchline

But when I do, it’s like fireworks

Exploding wildly on New Year’s Eve…

Unexpected, and a bit overwhelming

But oh so beautiful in its own way.

So, here’s to the quirks; the unique rhythm;

The moments when I’m too loud. Too quiet. Too much.

Because being me is not a puzzle to solve,

It’s an art form… a masterpiece in progress,

And I’m learning to paint it in the colours of my soul.

(c)BobChristian

Some problems
Are like stones in your pocket.
You’ve carried them so long,
They’ve started to feel like lint.
Familiar. Small. Permanent.
But just because something feels like home
Doesn’t mean it’s not hurting you.

Sometimes,
Healing starts with a question
Asked at 3am, in a whisper:
“Why am I still holding this?“
And maybe your hands don’t answer,
But they tremble.
And that’s enough.

So you reach in,
Past all the excuses,
The “This is just how I am,”
The “It wasn’t that heavy”
And you pull it out
A wound masquerading as a memory,
A bruise dressed like a trophy.

You stare at it.
And it stares back.
And without ceremony,
Without applause,
You let it go;
Let it fall.
Let gravity do what your heart couldn’t;
Let the silence stay: Finally.

Because you…
You were never made to drown
In your own chapters.
You were meant to surface,
To rewrite the ending,
To turn the pain into poetry,
And the weight into air.

And if there’s no applause?
Let the earth do it for you,
With every thud of something
You no longer need to carry. 

(c)BobChristian

I turned 50 today,

Which means I’m halfway to 100.

I’m still arguing with my knees

About whose great idea it was

To chase my dreams barefoot on concrete.

I woke up this morning

With a wrinkle, I don’t remember meeting.

A grey hair in my beard that calls me ‘sir’,

And a back that negotiates before it bends.

But I woke up… and that, my friend,

Is poetry in itself.  

50 is not a finish line, it’s a flashlight

In the second act of the play.

A reminder that youth is a whisper.

And that wisdom is a megaphone made of memories

Of all those ‘almosts’ I survived. 

I’ve learnt that scars

Are simply tattoos with better stories.

That joy doesn’t always roar, 

Sometimes, it hums 

Like the laugh of someone who has seen the storm

And still dances in the drizzle.

I’ve buried dreams and planted new ones in their place

Watched time blur, like a Polaroid,

But I’m still here, heart thumping like a gospel drum

Voice steady like a bridge over breakage. 

See, 50 is not over, it’s open.

It’s the part of the novel where the protagonist 

Finally stops apologising and 

Hiding their light away.  

So here I am, 50 candles deep,

Each one a sun that dared to burn

A little longer and brighter than expected.

And I’m not done… Not even close

I’m just better at knowing when to rest,

And when to rise like thunder, with a purpose. 

Call me vintage.

Call me classic.

Call me middle aged.

Call me right on time with 

Who I have grown to become.

I’m Bob. Pleased to meet you. 

In some universe,

You never tripped over that heartbreak,

Never cried into your morning coffee.

In another,

You’re dancing in the rain, shirt open

Soaked to the bone, yet still smiling.

The multiverse is infinite.

Your problems aren’t.

They just feel like they’re everything

because right now,

they are.

But even this moment

has neighbors

where it’s already better.

(c)BobChristian