Be Your Own Beauty

  • We Write at Night.

    This is the time we write, at night. Where no one can hear the sight of light because we are in the dark midst tormented by which way to turn and what to see.

    This is when the lights go off and the dimly lit street light becomes center stage and we can see the graffiti art on locked up stores. Who says these sprayed on smiles aren’t painted for us? See the silent messages of, “fuck yeah” as we feel the emotion well up from within. The spark that follows into the never ending rainbow of this art turning into the artistic thoughts we think. It’s ours if we claim it. Copywrite or continued connected consciousness?

    Report as a spam. Because we too speak the words, “I am my biggest problem” written in the alley corners of contemplation.

    These are the thoughts we think. This is the way we roll, behind street paths with funny names and and the not so funny moment when someone looks back at us as we take a hit of the moment.

    Why haven’t we ever taken the time to just absorb the atmosphere, to sit at the corner of Ha-Carmel and Allenby to listen to the bus beeps and the inhale to second hand smoke? We stop little ones from riding into oncoming traffic, and barely have time to look up and see that the city has been built off distress and art made in twilight.

    It’s the time when we can’t make eye contact. It’s not safe. Don’t talk at midnight, walk like we’ve got somewhere to go.

    In the waking hours of 4:44am we hear it, the not so subtle gargling of its underbelly. And the fact of the matter is we’ve sharpened all our nails for this point. Because we know we aren’t just being followed by our inner shadows as a random dark stranger follows us whichever way we go.

    We march for violence against women because the one to one ratio of offense is an alarming feat, so we pick up ours and walk to a new pace but it’s not at our own speed and it isn’t even in our direction. Something says we better pay attention. We are trying to see, there’s no need to stop and no place to go.

    We wonder.

    “Is this the station for the bus or where we get off to stop?” Stand still, breathe in the overwhelmingly sweet bread, and try not to act tempted. Are we our own superwoman? Could we fly away with wonder words waging womanly wars? We have a right to be here. But that birthright is on no basis at all.

    The holy land.

    The land of holy bibles and holy battles, like wholly bloodshed.

    If we were so above the days of sexism why are we deathly terrified to trail down that dark path?

    “Grr” in anger as if we were growling like the zombie sounding man-of-the-street does at the stroke of night.

    No train of thought, just endless tracks that have no destination. We’re in Israel, don’t you see it? The motorcycle vroom-vroom on the move, but that social time has got us drifting in a rhyme. With this prophetic language we are speaking Hebrew just fine.

    Yes it’s  jewish, but not so orthodox. We don’t see things the same as them. They ask if we have a shekel or two to donate to a poor jew? But what if we are that poor few?

    What if we are the ones who need to fill our paper cups and spill out on a not-so-paper-page as we write down the way we walk in a story.

    action-adult-architecture-266046

  • We Are Single.

    There it is again, that feeling. The unmistakable moment of blood rushing up from your core because you’re knocking on the door, and no one is answering. The only thing looking back at you is an empty page. The white void of just nothing behind the screen but a bunch of CSS and HTML. But here we are, sketched on the page and colored in by a personal shade of choice. “Where am I? What do we look like?” we ask ourselves. Shaken by the sight in the mirror we begin to see, and it makes us want to puke. Something about it doesn’t sit in the stomach.

    We are absolutely alone.

    We are in our own time and it seems timeless.

    We are nobody and anyone we want to be, all at once.

    We are the person who answers the door and the one who walks through it.

    No one stands in our way. No one, except someone that goes by no one who happens to be someone who is no one, and someone has to be no one. We are that one. We are the one heartbeat that everything is alright. There is no one in the way. No one but, the no one we wish to see in ourselves. It’s the hardest part of growing up, no longer can you be distracted by the constant background of social groups and contrasting characters. There’s just too many faces to really see our own and the mirror gets fogged by the cloud of countless people. Finally, we have nothing to see but ourselves. And the illumination is a dangerously beautiful mixture.

    We have become ourselves. Nothing to see here but the chiseled contexts of core beliefs and a brainwashing upbringing. And just like that a diamond is carved from the mines of man’s mental expression. Sure, there’s still work to be done. We have to sand down the edges and polish it off, but at the very least we held our ground and now it’s our time to learn how to make ourselves shine. So it’s not about anyone around you, it’s about you. You realizing the priceless jewel of self. What’s our inner pearls? Can we crack open the shell?

    Nothing there but the frame of an opened door, and we are the ones to walk through it. We are the ones to take that step, that first qualifying leap, that we are ready to cross over the threshold. We begin to have immediate doubt and fear of the inconceivable, “Are we actually enough?” No not us, we are no one! No one is not enough. To be enough, we have to be someone. “Yeah that sounds right,” we say to ourselves, and it would sound like the truth, but our wise wide eyes can already see everyone is no one. That someone you see as a ‘someone’ is actually no one at all. We are all no one and everyone and anything we’d like to be. What are we?

    A blab of emotions thinking, talking, eating, breathing, acting.

    What role do we want to play? Because everyday is a new day do perform a new part in the masterpiece of self-mastery. We can be the magician of this mural and the high priestess of the divine, but what about the fun loving fool? The scary thing is we are that too. We are like that pink bunny that shows up everytime a Sim becomes depressed, we know how to get laugh. Looking like Legally Blonde got invited to a ‘costume’ party for a few stops on this bus ride, why should we care if they don’t know what Halloween is in Israel? The jokes on them, we don’t need their approval. The holiday is already so much like every other day. Only now the whole world is laughing at us because we’re different. And it shatters our self-esteem.

    Breakdown all the walls of this house and see that we’re babies. We are the children that are raising ourselves. We may kick and scream that we don’t want to be who and what we are, but here we are. The unapologetic version of ourselves. Don’t worry no one is looking, we are all by ourselves.   

    art-attractive-beautiful-458381

%d bloggers like this: