Love Thyself

Do you love yourself? Do you find meaning in your beautiful soul, do you applaud your heroic acts of waking up everyday to face the glowing pearl in the sky? If not, well, news flash: You are not going to find love if you do not find it in yourself first. And how does one go about finding that true inner peace of contentment in our own skin? We see the woman walking down santa rosa avenue, a few extra pounds, shaking her thighs in too tight cut-offs, heels so high. She's not ashamed to show off what her momma gave her, even if her momma forgot to wrap her gift in perfect shiny ribbons and silver bells. No sire, she holds her head up, facing onward and loving every minute of her seemingly perfect imperfections.

And so, my question is, how does one love themself before another can delve into that giant four-chambered organ responsible for the good in mankind? We see ourself according to the silent expectations society slowly creeps into our minds by way of television, internet, bus ads, you name it. We are programmed to want more, want it now and to question something once we get it. The motto for today's young population is "Always want what you can't have and once you have it, trade it in for something better." In a constant state of limbo, a slacker's paradise, we are becoming a degenerative generation where the motives for improvement stem from the exterior god of dissatisfaction. We see something we like, we have to have it now. If we can't have it, we pine, we pray, we do everything in our energy to attain it. Once we have it, what now? Do we cherish it or throw it away? And that is just how our love for ourself reflects our love for others.

Do we base our inner love for ourself on the exterior pleasures of fast cars, skimpy clothes, and loose sex? If and when we attain such things, are we any happier with what we've accomplished and where we're going? To acquire the seemingly impossible, the unreachable goals, the likes of almighty Mt. Everest's glory. What's it all for? Recognition, money, fame? Things that you can't take with you to the grave. We morph ourself to fit into a world full of misfits, only those who "seem" normal or molded for this society build themselves up for it. They work out at the gym for hours a day to get the perfect beach body, they dye their hair to match their "inner personality," (when in reality, they all seem to have the same personality in L.A.) We mock what we do not understand, what is different from us. We flee from uniqueness when we really should embrace it. The world is not black and white, there is not one correct way of doing something or one type of look that is deemed "attractive." We are all beautiful in our flawed, imperfect ways. When we realize and accept this, that is the real meaning of loving thyself.

Catching Flies

Contemptuous thoughts that fill my mind, so many attempts at trying to do right in a world full of wrongs. I see her sleep on her soft white side, the pillow heavy with a ball of black wavy hair. Peace at last. The never-ending race of running towards heaven has now reached the finish line. But for a few hours, bliss can be known as our lids begin to flutter to the waves of thoughtless oceans. Crowds of hands clap to the appraisal of adoration, babies with sparkling blue eyes yearn for a caring touch. Friends and past lovers come together for the final curtain to draw.

Here we are, standing at life's boundless stage, ready for an encore or the flight of red fruit's regret to come our way. Hello tomorrow, today has come and gone. What was once a promise turns to a question, was it really real all along? It's easy to wander through this desert of quandary, to find shelter in life's casting shadows, but when it's all over and done with, will there be a light in a tunnel or simple dirt on our halos?

I see the quick-legged spider exploring each crevice as if he knew where he was going. Sometimes he stops for a fly, then picks up his brown body in search of refuge to build a home. Many times he goes unnoticed and his destiny is reached, but many times his path is interrupted by a giant flying paper, having the final say in this spider's life. Are we living unnoticed, building nests in safety's clutches or are we taking chances, risking the plight of paper's flight?