Beautiful music plays
while I remember—the worst—
most beautiful days.

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Beautiful music plays
while I remember—the worst—
most beautiful days.
I spent a good portion of last night, mooring with the tide, tied to emotions, most of which surely weren’t mine to suffer, though, like a good little buoy I did all I could to stay afloat.
But what causes a man to harbor such feelings of faithless dread.
Sympathy? Empathy? Selfless, selfishness?
Isn’t it funny how even when no one asks us to suffer, we often choose to suffer.
Could it stem from guilt? Plausible, though I think not. Depression? No, because I could still move. Trauma? Not in this case, as it had nothing to personally do with me.
Perhaps than maybe deeper, beyond the physical self, far from age or reason, like roots grown deep within the soil, always there yet invisible to the naked eye.
So then what?
Let’s take the current state of society in which the mind is placed.
We are and always have been reactionary beings, jumping to conclusions without fully taking the time and energy to understand or explore where these irrational compulsions come from.
So the year is 2020 and we are still at one another’s throats.
Not a day goes by that I don’t get a phone call whether or not I am willing to vote. Not a day goes by that I don’t see one side of the argument ready and willing to cut the other’s throat. Not a day goes by where I don’t get the impression that peace is just dependent on war, like an inside joke I just don’t get the humor.
So it’s within this grey area that I swim where both sides of the equation continue to expel these deep seeded emotions from within.
Had it not been for the open minded, tirelessly educated guidance and good nature of a mother, I may have gone another way years ago, though still I stay afloat while the undertow continues its torment.
So it seems here, now, in the mornings clean light, where all that I can do is observe—in nature that surrounds—human nature take its course.
I know who I am. And I know my intentions are good. Sometimes our actions speak louder than words but for most of us, words just don’t seem to be heard.
But that’s no reason to destroy what you can’t control.
So for those who cannot express or explain this current state of extremes we face both alone and together, I suggest this: be a beacon of hope.
Because what we know today, with or without our help, will surely change tomorrow.
So even in my darkest hours, I know, hope will never falter, light will find a way, and tides will turn, if not now, then surely another day.
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.
There’s a part of me
that see’s this all clearly
like a child standing in a crowd
there’s really only one way out.
What is it that you see
it’s fine to disagree
why if the world’s mine oyster please
forgive me for the lack of belief.
I had this faith in you
I thought you had it too
how many smiles does it take to show
the unhappiness we grew to know.
Do you take this hand
would you understand
lighting matches just to prove you could
did it ever do you any good?
Tell me a story, one without love, cause it’s taken me for granted so many times—enough.
There’s a part of you
engrained in me now
I’d be a liar if I didn’t admit
it’s a piece I won’t ever regret.
So what’s the point of these prose
and insecurity poems
like a fish needs water to breathe
I guess it really isn’t up to me.
If this is just a passing feeling
I’ll agree to disagree then
watch the sun rise and fall once more
a couple hours then I’ll start the chore.
You see I know my problems
it’s not up to you to solve them
if I go out the Hemingway
like Kerouac first I’ll have my say so
Tell me a story, one without love, cause I’ve taken you for granted so many times—c’mon.
Tell me a story, one without love, cause it’s taken me for granted so many times—enough.
Got up this morning ahead of my time
shook fear from my hair and tears from my eyes
took to the mirror and spoke to this guy
who said he knew me from before —
it’s there that he unlocked the door.
He gave me a sunrise he gave me his hand
he told me a secret I could understand
life isn’t a journey or destination
it’s your choice to choose to buy in —
for me it’s better not to win.
So I sharpened my memory and tore out his tongue
recycled the organ from which I’d dislodged
filled it with the secret and sealed it shut
if X marks the spot then I’m fine —
love’s just footnotes in nursery rhyme.
Connecting the dots which soon filled my head
aligned with ideas I spoke with each step
life ain’t no cake walk or deal with respect
it’s your throat or mine well of course —
I’d take mine to spare you the course.
It’s kill or be killed so I’m on my knees
no fear any longer just tranquility
it’s obvious ain’t it half hearted pity
runs deep like the roots of despair —
no one’s got the cure or should dare.
So with that in mind one swift hit should do
a hole in the head hell it ain’t nothing new
I was head over heals now I’m sinking through
the clouds which look soft from afar —
at the end of this there’s only dark.
With all things considered it’s lovely I guess
like spilled paint confetti this hole in my chest
I’ve dug it before since third grade I guess
my actions speak louder than words —
it’s all been a blessing and curse.
All my life
I never wanted to hurt anyone
I just got in the way
until I wasn’t
anymore.