You are the sty in my eye,
the pain in my side.
You are the headache in my head,
and the doubt in my life.

You are NOT the fox that hides the truth,
nor are you a shy child that is afraid to speak.
You are not the damsel in distressed
And you are not poison to me.

Because I AM the Buddhist monk that is enlightened
I am the quiet library.
I am the hooting owl on the tree
I am the pages in the books