Am I An Artist?

  I yearn for the feminine… Someone with the heart to care for me and truly care about me. Someone with whom I can share my tenderness. Someone I can kiss, cuddle, and feel at home with. Someone who gets my banter—so I never have to walk on eggshells.   I want someone who feels rested  as we travel through the tides of life. Someone who sinks into my chest as we lie entangled in a sea of lush green grass,  glistening with morning dew.  I need someone open enough to receive me—mind, body, and soul. I need someone I can affect and penetrate, whole. Someone curious about life and existence, Someone who loves to explore the realities of the universe and the mysteries beyond. I need someone with whom I can have deep, endless conversations— About everything beneath the sun and stars, The depths of the oceans, And the infinite vastness of space.   I need someone I can rely on when I feel lost. I need someone who is present when we are together. I need someone ...

  What is pain? What is suffering? It is the ache you feel, deep within your heart, when your idea of reality is incongruent with the actuality of your surroundings.   You expect the world to be a certain way, and you realize that the world within you is misaligned with the world around you.   It becomes a constant tug-of-war— to either resist what’s out there and protect all that is you, or give up and give in, becoming a copy of copies, forsaking your world in the process.   I choose to look at the world with my mind’s eye, a gift that only I can wield. I choose to seek subjective truths, disregarding redundancies that pose as wisdom.   I choose to experience all that I can without being ashamed of all that I am. I choose to dream until I reach my finality, and hope that my dreams will manifest.   And I choose to accept the pain of knowing that none of it might ever manifest for me.   ...

Maybe—just maybe— It’s time to admit That I was ashamed to be a man. Maybe I never had the masculine presence I needed as a child. Maybe I was never encouraged to be independent and free, To make mistakes, To learn from them, To make my choices and own them. Maybe I never had a guiding hand to show me what strength truly meant. Maybe I was cut down too often, Criticized, shamed, and emasculated with ill intent. Maybe my passion for life was extinguished, Replaced with the weight of expectations that meant nothing to me, Injected with the dogmas of a mediocre existence. Maybe they wanted me docile, agreeable— So they could uphold their fragile sense of superiority. I have walked through my own darkness, Felt its weight, and traveled its depths. And in that silence, I was forced to face truths I had long denied about myself. And the truth? I was ashamed of the masculine. I was afraid to meet my own darkness. I was ashamed to be a man. Yesterday, I carried that shame. But today—a little l...