This is more a realisation than a poem. It spontaneously leapt from my neurotic mind when contemplating the various degrees of suffering in the world related to ego
Hiding behind your superficial need for acceptance,
unable to have the simplest of realisations.
Like a child hiding underneith a bed sheet
pretending to be a ghost.
You are a ghost but have not grown.
You are naive like a child
but riddled with the mind of the manipulating
self absorbed adult.
When i have these realisations they seem to come from someone else. I'm guessing this someone is not my ego. To me they are dark, haunting and beautifully moving