The tourists stop, and stare.
“Mommy is this why we’re here?”
“Yes,” says mommy kindly,
“this my dear is why we’re here.”
Then, they calmly walk away.
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A Tale of Two Cities—Broken from Birth
People were always
Dying to get in, or
Dying to get out.
Nobody ever wanted
To be where they were—
And it was always that way—
It was A Tale of Two Cities.
Cruel and hostile, broken
From birth—The bread
When shared, had long since spoiled.
So left were the people’s
Disgruntled denial, who’d sacrifice
Even their own mothers love—for lies—
Because, the truth was tough
and too hard to swallow.
And it was never their fault.
But neither was it His.
Whatever you decide, do it without the need for validation—we are one.
Whatever you decide, do it without the need for validation.
To seek validity is but a farce. It’s like aiming to make a splash in a rain puddle.
A child learns early on whether they care to admit it or not, that their choice is theirs and theirs alone. Nobody really cares more than it takes them to realize, eventually with age, that nobody really cares.
Sure, a mother cares deeply, but only as far as it interrupts her well being.
A father can break his back many times, but only as many times as it serves his cause.
Progression doesn’t come from an audience. Progression comes from within.
Progression comes from love, awareness, and nurture.
And although social media tells a different story from reality, we seek it, crave it, we often need it, but do we really?
Perhaps the greatest lesson we can learn from posting our day to day lives, morality, and hardships is that we are all equally as alone as we are the same—myself included.
Not too long ago, there was a time, it seemed, the world was much larger than we could ever imagine.
Driving cross country felt then like an achievement whereas now—after doing it more than a dozen times—it feels more like a routine I’d rather not admit.
Mostly it’s this that scares me.
Desensitization. It’s this that makes me wonder.
What’s the point?
The point is to treat yourself with the same dignity you would a stranger—a child.
The point is to look beyond life’s blessings, with eyes wide shut, and understand that all will be regardless of whatever validation you seek.
We can learn this by simply looking at a flower bloom. We can understand this by accepting that although, it may seem, the flower dies, another will take its place, as equally and wholly as beautiful as its former.
So whatever you decide, decide knowing, you aren’t as separate as you feel—we are all one.
The things I can not change
The things I can not change
remind me why I’m here.
They are but the souls
reminder—to stay the course.
In the presence of family, be only with family.
In the presence of family,
be only with family.
Put aside the work and worry.
It’ll be there when you part.
And enjoy one another
as if each member of your family
were a dish at the dinner table.
Fill yourself with their essence.
Allow them like nutrients
to replenish your mind, body, and soul
so that when you leave one another
you’ll do so knowing
their presence is with you
for better or worse, forever and onward—
second star to the right and straight on till morning.
When I was a kid—after bedtime—as quietly as I could, I would crawl from my bed, onto the floor, then elbow and knee my way down the hallway to lay in the doorway of my brothers room…
When I was a kid—after bedtime—as quietly as I could, I would crawl from my bed, onto the floor, then elbow and knee my way down the hallway to lay in the doorway of my brothers room to watch his television.
He’s four years older than I am and, well, I thought he was really cool.
One, for having a TV in his bedroom. And two, for probably knowing I was there but not saying anything.
Whatever he was watching didn’t really make a difference but it was comfortable there, on the carpet, with the blue light flashing.
A dark bedroom can be pretty scary to a child, especially during a thunderstorm.
Now that we’re older, we speak when it is necessary, but not all the time.
Probably less than either of us cares to admit.
He’s a busy working husband and parent while I’m pretty much all over the map.
Though when we do talk, it’s a meaningful talk of mutual reflection. He provides me with information from four years down the line and I remind him that I’m listening by offering whatever small insights are on my mind.
I thought he was great then and I still do now. No matter the distance the bond between two brothers is strong and unwavering.
Basically what I am saying is I look forward to the next time we’re able to watch a little TV, crack a couple jokes, and just hang out—without any pressure—even if it means the carpet or floor, that’ll be enough.
Portrait of my own Unique Beauty
If what you see in the mirror is ugly, then consider this: chances are you’re comparing your own unique beauty to what, for your entire life, you’ve been programmed to believe is beautiful.
And what is beauty anyways?
Margaret Wolfe Hungerford said, “beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”
And isn’t that true? Yes or no, in more instances than not beauty is subjective. In fact, I’d go even further to say that beauty manifests itself in infinite ways other than what the eye can see.
As a photographer with a fond admiration for women and men alike I can honestly say that I have taken countless photographs and manipulated them to appeal to the mass collective of what is to be considered quote on quote “beautiful.”
Hypocrite. No, I think not. I never claimed they were beautiful but simply did my job in a way that my superior agreed was aesthetically pleasing.
A wrinkle here, a crows foot there, deleted.
Nobody has ever died from a portrayal of beauty, right?
Wrong. Though I’m not an extremist so there are many factors to consider, all of which yes, I agree, may seem like a bit of a cop out or excuse not to hold oneself accountable for taking what is and transforming it into something less natural.
But this isn’t about my career choice or eye in which I behold.
This is about you and that “ugly” reflection in the mirror.
You are not ugly, you simply aren’t. You are you, and you are beautiful.
Those who claim to seek perfection, well, they’re only trying to fill a void. And it’s a bottomless pit because like beauty, perfection is ultimately subjective.
While I sit here and delve deeper into thought, I watch a mother and daughter walk by my window. The mother is flapping her arms as graceful as she can. The child looks to her mother and understands she is trying her best.
In the end all that we can do is try our best to love ourselves enough to fully accept the unique beauty of another.
Any other judgement is of which we have been programmed to believe.
It’s taken a very long while to believe in myself and I willingly admit that each day is a slow progression to further acceptance of my own unique beauty.
If someone tells you you’re not beautiful, that’s their loss.
And I hope the next mirror that you face looks back in your direction as the child looks with grace and marvels at the perfection of her mother’s love.
A mother cries out for her loss
It’s a shouting match, Liberty song
It all depends whose side you’re on
An 80’s flick, a telethon
The donors can’t afford
A peaceful march is a riot for
The higher ups keeping score
A father dies, a baby’s born
To a family torn apart
A mother cries out for her loss.
A brother vows vengeance.
Humanity what have we done?
Another brothers grave is dug.
It’s a quick escape, getting drunk
Do what you can, never enough
It’s a 90’s jam, a slogan sung
To another civil war
It’s a house of cards, a hand of fate
A demonstration turns to hate
It’s a feeling I just cannot shake
It takes all I’ve got to watch
Wake me up when it’s all over.
That’s no longer good enough.
It’s getting harder to be sober.
With history books full of blood.
What have we done?
I am not quite sure exactly what
Some parent’s expect of their children
In terms of success and failure
Because of course each individual is unique
In their own belief system developed through life
Though I do know exactly what
Some middle aged men and women
Expect of their parent’s, which is
Love and Understanding that
Love and Understanding means more to them
Than any award or prize, delusions of wealth
And superfluous measures of success
Handed down from Great-Grandfather to Grandfather
Then Father to Son who’s soul purpose it often seems
Is to belittle the latter, like some draconian wheel
Turning itself in circles, only to cause
An endless cycle of fear and inferiority
Leading nowhere fast, leading nowhere good
On an endless road of resentment and ill worth.
And we don’t ask for this. We are born to this.
We are flesh and bone
Fueled by the imperfections of our father’s
Father’s, father’s son
Who one day will understand he did nothing wrong
Oh Mother, dear mother
What have we done?
Call me crystal and I’ll make this clear
Call me crystal and I’ll make this clear
The world’s your oyster, won’t you be a dear?
Remember us, when you’re famous
Such a dangerous manifestation
Bite the bullet trigger happy kid
They said break a leg behind closed eyelids
Opportunity, don’t blow it
You’re a shooting star, now show it
Call me Ishmael cause I am drowning quick
Wailing never got you through the thick
What more could we ask for?
Through closed doors
Another kid’s born in the grave
By the third day he’ll be saved
Another wick is burnt too late
Just one more spirit and you’ll feel great
Wipe the Chalice, next in line to drink
Every word has meaning, child
who’s never’d time to blink
Words Of An Average White Male 