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Burying My Masks in Sacred Ground

Wanderlust for the lost

Photo by Adrien Wodey on Unsplash

There’s no sacred palace,
at least none I believe in.
I’m jumping from a cliff;
leaving my old self stiff.

That one saying yes hoping to come across
a cunning psychic who knows I meant to say no.
I’m burying my masks; hiding from those that
can’t stand seeing me…



Stories that matter. Emotion first and foremost.

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Carlos Garbiras

Storyteller sorting out the deeply ingrained neurosis of a topsy-turvy upbringing in Colombia.|| || Unequivocally Ambiguous Cultural Critiques