In the last post, Limit Limiting Limitations, the thought popped into my head to post a picture of my fit body to help prove the point. I refrained, why? Because, although I’m proud of the level of fitness I’ve achieved, I feel it would have hidden the point beneath something false. An image. Something that could easily be perceived as “ideal” or “perfection”.
See, in the teenage years that’ve been the overall persona of the United States, one idea has been driven into the minds of its citizens and allies for that duration. “Perfection” in terms of achieving certain, status-quos, “inalienable rights” somewhere along the lines became “applicable rights”.
Point blank, we can do better. We’ve tried to nullify ourselves in order to fit into some kind of societal Schrodinger’s box. “Are we alive or dead?” “Shh. We won’t know until they open the lid.” “Wait…why’s it up to them to tell us what it means to live?”
It’s a rough metaphor but I think it works.
It’s time to stop trying to live up to an image and begin fine tuning our acceptance. Accepting the truth of what is around us and within us. (I can expand so much on that…but, I don’t want this to drag on for too long.)
Accept beauty in all it’s forms, accept the truth of our pains, accept the pains of our truths. Accept all that we can be; accept all we’ve denied ourselves of becoming.
Accept everything! For what it is, not for what we pretend it to be. Accept everything as it is so we can change it for the better into what we deserve to have and share.
Too long we’ve become complacent when faced with something adjacent to our, illusions. So, we’ve come up with a plan to trap ourselves in limited interpretations of our moral constitutions.
Now it’s all being brought to light; there’s no other choice but to fight, insight corrections of plights long swept under a rug. Decaying with lingering vapors, like a drug, we used them to get high and mighty claiming to maintain a sense of responsibility in, outlandish realities…
Zombified; walking dead with our head in our hands, no plans of getting shit together because, “Hey, we’re already dead, it’s not like we’re gonna get any deader…”
Forgive me, I tend to ramble in rhythmic fashion; it’s a result of my thoughts and feelings clashing, both wanting to cash in…on my time. As a result, in thought, I rhyme. Iambic in flow, unapologetic in my art; the beat for it all, the bass, is my heart.