6.19.2017

"When did expressing our true selves become the worst kind of selfishness?"

The Search

Sometimes, there’s nothing more to give. You search and you search within yourself, but you’ve finally run dry. The inspiration has left, and no matter how hard you wish otherwise, it never comes back.

That’s fine. People change as they grow older. What once interested you, what was once your reason for getting up in the morning, will change too. The key to happiness isn’t to keep on clinging tightly, but to let go of the past and look for something new. You’ll find it eventually.

It’s only really giving up when you stop searching.

Expression

Sometimes it’s truly remarkable
How often we apologize
For being ourselves

Individuality must be
Repressed and explained
As though a terrible secret

We teach everyone not to
Stand out, to fit in, and that
Acting different is wrong

Why does someone have to
Write a thesis, with citations,
To be considered capable?

When did our personal lives
Become a book we must let others
Read before they acknowledge us?

The truth is, no one is entitled
To know you, to your reasons,
For being the person that you are

There’s nothing wrong with being
Unique and expressing yourself
Honestly, instead of always hiding

Conquer the Fear

Dance freely, without worrying

About others watching

Sing as loudly as you want As off-key as you can

Go to the gym or for a jog While ignoring any whispers or stares

That instrument you always wanted To learn, learn it now

Draw what inspires you, take pictures Of the things you find beautiful

Write what you want without worrying About who’s going to read it after

Don’t be afraid to do the things you want Just because of other’s reactions.

Living your life that way will end up being Your biggest regret

The Perfect Doll Maker

Creak.

Dorothy listened to Mr. Hasson come into the backroom of the shop after another order was placed. His hand stroked gently through her straight, wheat blonde hair in the fond manner of an owner praising his obedient pet.

"The Andersons finally broke down and promised little Mary another one of your dolls," Mr. Hasson said.

Dorothy didn't respond. She was only twelve years old, but Dorothy was already a much-lauded doll maker in their prosperous town. Everyone said so. Her dolls were the most treasured possessions of the local rich children, who didn't dare to make fun of her as they normally would have. All of the lesser fortunate children didn’t ever even get the pleasure of viewing her dolls from up close, since Mr. Hasson wouldn't let someone into the shop unless they were from a distinguished family.

Little Mary was eight years old, and she was the spoiled daughter of the mayor and his wife. She never even came to Mr. Hasson's shop herself when she desired a new doll. No, Mary's dolls were specially ordered to fit her exact whims, and then delivered to her when they were finished. Dorothy hated knowing that Mary’s parents bought her so many dolls only because they were expensive, and not because the girl really loved or needed them.

Creak.

There was a shuffling, and then Dorothy heard the other side of the bench creak as Mr. Hasson sat down beside her. "Isn't that nice, girl? That little Mary's parents are so caring?" he asked. "They're nothing like yours were, leaving you wallowing in your own filth and shit until I picked you up."

The words were cruel, but they were spoken softly. Dorothy had long-since grown used to similar barbs. Her ears were tuned only to the soft timber of Mr. Hasson's voice, and she felt only the soothing strokes of his rough hand through her hair.

When she was younger, Dorothy used to wonder if Mr. Hasson was lying to her about her parents. That was back when she had first met the man, when she was just learning the art of making dolls and hadn't been very good at it yet.

Dorothy knew better now. She knew that Mr. Hasson never lied about anything, because he'd told her that one day she would become a great doll maker, and that had come true. No, Mr. Hasson always spoke the truth.

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Want to find out what happens next? Check out the full and edited short story here on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07D6GHZS7.

Choose and Lose

There comes a time When we must choose Which to save and which One we must now lose

Let it all go
Learn to try
Sometimes we have
To sacrifice

Just because it’s
Precious doesn’t mean
It will remain safe
Or that it won’t disappear

There comes a time
When we must choose
Which to save and which
One we must now lose

We can’t hold onto
Everything all the time
Some things must be
Given up to move forward

Run and hide and try to
Fight it, but we can’t change
The truth that progress
Requires losing some things

There comes a time
When we must choose
Which to save and which
One we must now lose

Pick and choose carefully
Remember not to regret
Too much what you let go of
That's the only way to move on

There comes a time
When we must choose
Which to save and which One we must now lose

There comes a time
When we must choose
Which to save and which
One we must now lose

Footprints

Surprise, this is how it really works
How life can kick you down
Nothing’s like the movies
There’s no map to chart your path

Might as well walk everywhere
Eyes closed and breath held
Every step small and careful
Each one capable of killing you

Or instead of walking, crawl instead
Sure, the way will be slower going
But you’ll be more likely to arrive
No falling down when you're on the floor

Everyone says to grab the wheel
And drive as fast as you possibly can
Maybe it’d be more realistic to brake
Pay attention to the speed limit sometimes

Yeah, reality isn’t a race, or all the fairy
Tales you were told as a kid. Time to wake
Up and forget all the wise sayings of old
No handbook, no rules, and it sure can be scary

Got to figure it all out as you go along, tripping
Every other step, making such a ruckus that
No one can ever dismiss all your attempts
That’s how you leave your mark on this world