When i get asked about love, it’s never the right questions.
Does love have a good job with an above average income? An income you can eventually take half of? A car worth triple your life savings and a mansion with a 5 car garage? Does love wear tailored suits or jackets lined with fox corpses? Oh and love better come from a good family with an even better bank account! Does love pay for all of your meals and shower you with gifts? Did you find your true love?
These are the questions I am surrounded by, because love to some is a synonym for stability, convenience and comfort.
They don’t ask me if love does everything in his power to make me feel beautiful.They don’t ask if love tries to make me happy even when circumstances are rough. They don’t want to know about the butterflies that fill my stomach or the smile he puts on my face. God forbid they ask if love is trustworthy and loyal. They don’t take into account how love drops his pride for forgiveness or travels 3 hours by bus just to see my face.
Love has many definitions but unfortunately some exclude genuine happiness as one.
Curiosity killed the cat
But the cat had nine lives
After curiosity was fulfilled
Lust ran through his mind
He explored the neighbourhood
In search for pussy of his kind
Then promiscuity killed the cat
But the cat had eight more lives
So the cat learned from his mistakes
And left his cravings behind
After being scarred from desire
All he ever had was time
He chewed the fur around his nails
The cat knew he needed a vice
So he chose alcohol to kill the memories
but his organs paid the ultimate price
So Jack Daniel’s killed the cat
But the cat had seven more lives
So he went on an adventure
For himself, he wanted to find
But he was not prepared
And the people were not kind
So the cold took hold,
As he slept beneath the pines
Hypothermia killed the cat
But the cat had six lives left
The only option to being broke
Was resorting to theft
So his stomach became full
But his criminal record was next
Cops snatched him up
In his self-twined net
Prison killed the cat
But the cat had five lives left
Once he got out,
He had to make up for lost time
But employers turned him away
And his family was unkind
So all he had left
Were gangs with coloured cloths
So he bought himself a gun
And his first deal got him shot
So a pistol killed the cat
But the cat had four more lives
Scarred from brain to toe
He couldn’t keep dying inside
His head ran in circles
Searching for something he couldn’t find
A cycle unbroken unless he finally called it quits
So he stepped atop the 50-foot ledge
And stared down at his bliss
He squinted his eyes shut with a smile on his face
As he released all his tension, his balance lead the way
Until the final fall, the cat had good intentions
Bribed by societies need for ascension
Sanity was all the cat had kept
But none of it matters,
Because the cat has 0 lives left.
Just a worn out face with wine-stained lips and cigarette breathe. I will never stop laughing at my young naïve self for thinking life would be a soft stroke of paint, preparing for a masterpiece to be revealed.
Instead my brush broke through the canvas and the paint was splattered all over the floor. So I kept trying to paint new pieces, narrowing this image in my head. Craving to create something better, something worth wall space.
Somewhere down the line, I realized I cannot pretend and imitate, cannot trace and colour in-the-lines. At the end of the day, that beautiful mess on the floor is me; the chaos and ruin will always be me.
It defines me
That is what raw art is right?
Something you never want to look at, but cannot keep your eyes off of.
Why are we created in confusion?
Made to live a life spent questioning everything around us; everything we see, everything we hear, everything we feel.
Is it our destiny to spend eternity searching for these despairing answers?
Or instead to roam free,
And the fact that we are not aware of our objective
Is what makes life worth pursuing.
We can continue life, swerving through the labyrinth of question marks.
Finding comfort in what our society labels as comfortable,
Being the person society says we are,
Trying to keep our balance on this type rope.
Or we can find our own path
It may be hard to follow, a little dangerous at times.
But this path full of jumps, ducks and the odd fall from tripping over a loose question
Is what freedom really is.
Avoiding what will never be certain,
And instead creating your own meaning to life.
And once we figure out these “answers”
We will realize they were never really worth questioning.
“Money buys happiness”
one of the most controversial lines known to man. To me, money brings temporary happiness. Anyone who is financially stable can walk into a store knowing they are able to afford as much as they’d like and spoil themselves to the core. To me, the feeling of walking into a store with a limited amount of money can bring a happiness that no infinite amount can bring. As a kid, i was always put in those positions, constantly wishing i’d get lucky and find a 50 on the ground. My luck never changed, but now i am grateful for that. I remember the feeling of walking through the aisles with only the sound of my allowance clinging in my pocket, reminding me of my limited choices. I had this love for animal figurines, but finding affordable ones was my biggest problem. The second i’d see one an array of emotions rushed through me. The most dominant was hope and excitement for the item meeting my price limit. When i found out i could afford it, that I was able to take it home to my collection, i don’t think anything could of brought me more happiness. To me there is a big difference between the happiness of knowing you could buy all the figurines that the store has to offer, and the happiness of finding one unexpectedly that you will cherish and appreciate because you walked into the store not knowing if you can afford something that special at all.
A bucket. The only metaphorical way that helps me understand the growth of a person. A bucket starts off empty and clean. Eventually the bucket will be filled, maybe slowly, maybe quickly. constantly filled with different liquids or solids. Most of the time it can leave debris from its past, overlapping other substances or mixing together. Over time this bucket will ware out and become effective on how well it works.
A baby. Born into confusion with pure innocents and an empty bucket. Growing up you get yourself -or get thrown- into situations that effect the way you perceive and deal with things. These types of experiences leave its remains that eventually start building up. Everyone grows up getting filled to the rim with these incidents that haunts their every action, sometimes influencing it on others. So we carry around these buckets, straining our backs to avoid building the strength to just empty them. Some ignore it, let it eat away at their mind without even realizing the damage its doing.The only problem is, we cant go out and buy a new bucket, the most we can do is free ourselves from the heavy load or throw a lid on it.
When people think of art, they visualize paintings and sculptures. What most don’t realize is that there is so much more to the word “art”. If you perceive things with such beauty and originality, everything you look at, listen to or even taste is a work of art: the roots of a tree, the rising smoke from a cigarette, our chromosomes magnified, the curves and wrinkles at the edge of a smile, the clouds formation behind the sun, a simple guitar riff. These conventional normalities can be much more appreciated with a different perspective, which is the main reason creativity is such a big aspect in some lives. it is the gift of a mentality that believes life is so much more beautiful then what the accustomed eye can grasp. Even for the aspiring artists -whether it is a painter, writer,musician- all the best works of art come from inspiration; that emotional connection from the simplest of things that can root out a series of ideas. Our mentality is what divides us as humans, but to me, all the happiest people have one similarity. We all have come to the realization that there is art in everything.
The accuracy with life’s expectancy is fading away with every life you see
The things you see on your tv are all propaganda and imaginary
What we need to see is the truth of technology and our deteriorating creativity
Because life will never live up to be what the media is trying to force feed
The only reason kids will ever step on the grass and leaves is because they lost track from staring at their hypnotizing screen
The only reason a teen may go out to eat is to post a picture to gain likes for all the rest to see
And soon these teens will be older and see that their children’s childhood will be replaced with the constant need
To build their confidence by staring into a glass screen that will predict if they will be accepted into society
Yes I’m contradicting because I am a product of this scheme
But now I know what to blame when my child feels to incompetent to just be.