The Monkey's Ink Spill

A "Monkey's" 2-year journey to spill honest words, defying rules for connection

(Tick-Tock Goes the 23:12)
Brain's doing the scribble-scrabble, trying to cage these thoughts, make 'em behave.
Rules, they say? Like fences in the clouds, sometimes they're there, sometimes they just wave goodbye.
Got a backpack full of yesterdays, some bits are shiny, some make the corners of my mouth droop.
Was about to slam the notebook shut, call it a night for rhymes and reasons.
Then, BAM!
Mama Bear struts in, eyes landing on that rebellious title: "Rules? Nah!"
She snorts, a gentle rumble.
"Honey-Monkey," she declares, "monkeys don't do rules! Swing free with those words!"

(Gears Grinding, Pen in Hand)
Whoosh! Mama Bear, you flicked a switch, didn't you?
Now the ink's gonna dance till the rooster crows. Thought this poem was a boulder to push uphill, but you just handed me the turbo boost.
"My Handsome-Monkey"... that little tag of yours, sticks like honey.
Gotta admit, it's got a zing.
This poem? Yeah, it's gonna leave a mark.

(Heartbeat Steady?)
Funny thing, writing used to feel like fumbling in the dark.
Tossed a few lines to a friend once, kinda sheepishly.
Her eyes went wide.
"Dude! This is... wow."
Next thing I know, she's dragging me into this poetry jungle.
Didn't even realize I'd been living there all along.
"Wait a minute," my brain stammered, "I've been speaking poem this whole time?"

(Let the Banana Peel Fly!)
Sure, poetry's got its fancy footwork, its rhymes that click like puzzle pieces.
But for me? It's the feeling that blooms when it lands in the laps of my people.
Glad the old poems are out there, stretching back like tree roots.
But me? I'm just trying to wrangle the chaos in my head.
Used to twist my words into knots, trying to be clever.
Then my buddies were like, "Yo, keep it simple, monkey-brain!"
So now I write like I talk, so even little dude, seven years young, gets it.
"Dad! More!" he yells, and that's the best review I can get.

(The Ink Flows)
Some folks, they're all about the perfect balance, the rhymes that lock tight.
Me? I'm chasing the pictures in my head, trying to pin 'em down with honest words.
No bad way to spill your soul onto the page, long as it clicks for someone, even if that someone is just you.
Gotta grab a little something from it, right?
A feeling, a thought, a "Hey, me too!"

(The Familiar Jungle)
Growing up? Rules were just suggestions whispered on the wind.
Trouble? My middle name, practically.
Mom tried the whole discipline thing, bless her heart, but this monkey was a slippery customer.
Dad? He'd run out of punishments, his hair thinning faster than a banana disappears in my hand.
"When, oh when, will you learn?" he'd groan.
My inner smart-aleck would pipe up,
"When your head stops reflecting the sun, Pops!"
No wonder Mom still tells me to play nice.
There was only one wild monkey in this crew. Brothers, glued to the soccer, this Ronaldo dude from Brazil with the questionable haircut...
I was more into Iron Mike, the fist-flurry king.
Tell my brothers he sucked? Instant rumble. Almost won, too!

(The Schoolyard Zoo)
School days? Teachers were just... well, targets. Try to kick me out? Zoom! Around the classroom like a caffeinated squirrel.
Couldn't catch me? "Hey, slowpokes!" I'd holler.
Anything but numbers? Cue the monkey screeches.
I was the legend, the one-of-a-kind classroom chaos coordinator.

(Present Day Swing)
Thirty-something now, thanks to the big guy upstairs for the "obey" lessons (mostly learned, mostly).
Got a she-monkey who can tango and tease. "Mama Bear" fits her just right. And now, a mini-monkey in the mix!
We chase him, he chases us, sometimes we all chase our tails until Mama Bear pretends to be a grumpy nun. Good times.

(Poetry's Playground)
This whole poetry gig? Just a way to let the steam out, a jungle gym for the mind.
Now you're telling me there are MORE rules?
Tried to decode 'em, this poetry code, but ninety-hour weeks don't leave much brainpower for that.
Job's a nutcase. Home time? That's when the wife gets a playful squeeze.
She pretends to be all "oh no you didn't," but I see that little smirk.
Playing hard-to-catch, that Mama Bear.

(Monkey See, Monkey Do Jr.)
Little dude, he's a chip off the old block, glued to Mama's phone, soaking up stories.
Wants to read my stuff, and suddenly the well's run dry.
Last week? Found out Papa Monkey's poem bank was empty.
So he did what any self-respecting mini-monkey would do: he made up his own.

(The Tale of the Tiny Tyrant)
"Once upon a twinkle," he began, "a sparkly fairy met a regular kid. They chatted about seashells and sunshine, agreed to meet where the waves tickle the sand. But when the boy showed up with his bucket and spade... the fairy ate him! The End."

(Our Reactions)
Mama Bear's laugh bounced off the walls.
Daddy Monkey? Speechless.
Seven years old and already dropping plot twists like banana peels.
Proud doesn't even cover it.
Little monkey Jr., you're gonna have crowds roaring someday, no doubt about it.
Papa Monkey's got your back.
Fear? We'll teach you to outsmart it.
No looking back in this jungle.

(Wait, the Moon's High!)
Whoa, 1 AM already?
Okay, dear reader, this next bit's for you, the fellow traveler.
You're a believer, you're here, turning these words into pictures.
Let's keep this ride going, hearts bumping along the way.
Adventurer, that's you.
Think I'm some kind of word wizard?
Nah, just got a good Mama Bear whispering in my ear.
Here we are, sharing this moment, our stories tangling together.

(Our Wild Ride)
Life throws punches, sweet and sour.
Sometimes we're the storm, sometimes we're trying to find the sunshine.
But our stories? They keep humming.
Poetry? It dances through it all.
Me and Mama Bear? We face the tangled vines together, high-fives all around.
She taught me about giving, about letting go of the grudges.
Mama Bear dug up the old monkey tales – the mischief, the silly dances, the times I was a royal pain.

See it now? This poetry thing, this messy, beautiful way of talking?
Doesn't have to be fancy.
Sometimes we stumble, sometimes we shine, but we always get to speak our piece.
Tomorrow, the festive lights twinkle.
Good day for living.
Just a guy from the Maldives, here.

Alright, gotta swing off this branch for a bit. Thoughts need a nap. 3 AM, feels like I've scribbled something halfway decent.
Too much thinking can turn the brain to mush.
Huh? Mama Bear's out cold.
Bonus writing time!
One more little swing through the word trees won't hurt, right?
Think-blink... the words are lining up, the rhythm's clicking.
Just gotta trust that gut feeling and go for it.

Calling all new monkeys with pens: dump those thoughts onto the page.
Trust your instincts, ditch the "buts."
You're just holding yourself back.
Doesn't have to be perfect, just has to be yours. Life's a wild ride, you're along for it.
Those thoughts in your head?
They're just visitors.
Learn from 'em, let 'em move through.
No limits here, you'll find your own secret path.
Who are we to judge the ones who write to quiet the storm inside?
Hanging on by a thread, feeling lost in the echo chamber of their own minds?

Here I am, feeling like a slightly rumpled gem. Brain's still buzzing like a trapped bee.
Oh, well.
Rules for writing? Sure, they exist.
But this monkey?
He's just gonna keep swinging through the jungle of words, free and untamed.
5 AM. Mama Bear's stirring. Time to crash-land on that comfy bed and recharge for the next adventure.

written on
13-02-2023
final edit
21-05-2025

A Note from the Monkey Behind the Pen
Hey there, fellow traveler,
You just read "The Monkey's Ink Spill," a poem that's been rattling around in my head – and on paper – for over two years. Crazy, right? What kind of person spends that long on one piece of writing? Apparently, this "Monkey" does! 😂

English isn't my first language, and honestly, I never really cared much about grammar or sounding "professional" until recently. Maybe that's why I feel so free just spilling words onto the page, letting thoughts tumble out without worrying if every comma is in place.

This poem actually came from a challenge by a friend, Gintare. She dared me to rewrite it, focusing on perfecting the grammar and punctuation, and taking all the time I needed.

After all this time, I've looked at it so much that I'm completely "blind" to it now. That's where you come in. My biggest hope is that something in these lines clicks with you, maybe makes you nod your head and think, "Yeah, I get that."

If anything here moved you, made you laugh, or even just sparked a thought, I'd love to hear about it. And if you have any thoughts on how it could be even better, please share! Positive criticism is always welcome—it's how we all grow.

Thanks for swinging through this jungle of words with me. I truly hope you enjoyed the journey.

Oh, and for the record, I'm pretty sure I'm never accepting a challenge like this ever again! 😂
what a crazy ride this has been.