180 Days

Rejected at birth
like the runt of a litter
but it was a solitary birth
No bonding
Never taken to breast
no lips to nips
never tasted Mother’s milk
I still wonder why
How does an hour-old child
earn ostracism from his mother?
An aunt
thirteen
asked to play house
Surrogate mother
six-month sentence
till alpha mom returns
to her senses
or heart leak is dammed
Child
finally gets a homecoming

It is hard to feel connected
when you’re rejected
the first half-year of life
The bond that was made
with the aunt in eighth-grade
is severed
Familiar touch is gone
The unfamiliar
at times abrupt
at times timid
Silence
is profitable
when left alone
Solitude
seems better
than uncomfortable bonding
No affection
no rejection
Child wisdom
or wishful thinking
It’s hard to be a sage
wearing throwaways
at the ripe old age
of 180 days

 

[Another contribution from JW.]

Ghosts of lives lived

My father’s father survived a war torn land as a child but could not survive the war that raged within him.

My father’s mother carried the weight of a broken generation on frail shoulders and fed it with pockets full of imitation love.

My father perpetually relived the death of his dreams till Death finally came for him.

My maternal grandfather built the Interstate of Integrity through the Badlands of prejudicial injustice.

My mother’s mother was born to please Earth with her scent – like Night Blooming Jasmine – only to be gone by morning.

My mother lived her life for others except for a momentary lapse that left her a lone wolf without a pack.

I live as a ghost in a life of lies built on the expectations of others.

 

[Another contribution by JW: art and words.]

[For those who may be curious, Kat is doing much better, but is still dealing with some issues. But I’ve got months of medical issues still ahead in the near future. So we are grateful to JW for all he’s done and continues to do for us here.]

Wisdom of Wounds

 

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The innocence of beauty
and the wisdom of wounds
can be a powerful combination
when harmoniously balanced.
Yet beauty’s teaching will always be
inferior to the wisdom of wounds.
Beauty is fleeting.
The wisdom of wounds endures.
The wise learn from their wounds:
yet fools see the same wound multiply,
since wounds, untreated,
expand.

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However, only a masochist seeks pain.
Like a society worshipping youth
and beauty above experience and wisdom
forever doomed to repeat
its self-inflicted wounds.
How many of tomorrow’s pains
could we be spared if we’d only
learn from the wounds of today?
There truly is…
wisdom in wounds.

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[Another contribution from JW: art and words.]

The human condition

 

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The human condition is far from perfect,
and yet there’s still no greater beauty.
In fact, the closest we can get to perfection
is in overcoming our imperfections,
while overlooking those of others.
Though it is true, imperfections, like beauty,
are in the eye of the beholder.
Nothing can be done to alter that fact.
A person cannot be forced to view others
through more compassionate eyes
in order to see the true beauty.
It’s their God-given right to be a fool.
Needless to say,
it is wiser to be true to oneself…
scars and all.
Heed not those who habitually point out
the imperfections of others, as they
simultaneously, though ignorantly,
spotlight their own.
Those who confess no imperfections shine a
beacon on that which they confess.
To judge without knowing is like intelligence
without common sense, it’s nonsense.
How one responds to imperfections, one’s own
or others, is a great indicator to
individual self-worth.
Therefore, sex appeal isn’t what others see in you,
it’s what you see in yourself.

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Love can always look beyond imperfections
to find the beauty.
Always.
Including a healthy love of self.
A proper course of action:
cease dwelling on imperfections.
The cost is too great.
Everything of substance is forfeited in the process.
Imperfection is a part of life,
deal with it and move on.
You’re perfectly imperfect just as you are.
And if you show me anyone without a blemish
I’ll show you someone to avoid when
the shit hits the fan.
Part of the grand design is that humans can
overcome imperfections, individually and
collectively, proving miracles still happen.
Which does not imply all such miracles include
a transformation from
imperfection to perfection.
Nor does it imply mere acceptance.
Humans conquer their imperfections by not
allowing the obstacle control over their lives:
keeping them from their desires.
Individuality, confidence, peace of mind:
Living with imperfections.
Never allowing imperfections to hinder
living to the fullest.

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[Another contribution from JW: both art and writing.]

 

The True Perfection

[Another contribution from JW: both art and poetry.]

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The true perfection of humanity,
in a sense,
lies within our imperfections.
And vice-versa:
Beauty can be an imperfection.
Doubtless, not the common-thread
we would’ve selected
for ourselves.
Yet a bond, never-the-less,
binding us together.
Humans are equally yoked
in imperfection.
Alas, perfection is merely a state
of mind: often misconceived.
Humanity is a state of being:
a state where we each reside.
Neighbors.
Who then, when equally yoked,
has the right to condemn?
Yes, beauty has its appeal,
but it’s still a façade.
After all, today’s beauty
is tomorrow’s has been;
like today’s wannabe
is tomorrow’s never was.
Attempting to uplift oneself
by degrading another,
especially when unable to prove
one’s own perfection, is, sadly,
more than a waste of breath.
It’s a prevailing symptom
of an epidemic.
An ever-increasing pastime…
An ill-inspired comedy of errors…
With but one fate…
a Greek tragedy.