Curious Creature

Sorrow is a curious creature. Sometimes it creeps up quietly, uninvited and un announced. At other moments it bursts forth like a raging river. Sorrow can be a silent companion, steadfast and strong. It always has an effect, whether immediately pressing, weak and fading, or just a nudge in your thoughts. Life carries on through tragedy, but sadness is like a burr; it sticks to your hair and your clothes. It clings on for for dear life, because you are the only one who can provide that for it. Sorrow depends on you for sustenance. It is your choice to allow or deny its existence. And that is not a decision to take lightly. Not all sadness is parasitic or harmful.  A lesson learned from mistakes leaves scars, scars that should not be forgotten. Disappointment in failure is healthy, so long as it does not hinder you from  future victory. It is a safeguard against apathy. To forget the sadness of losing a friend or loved one would be to forget a piece of who you are. So, what will you do with your power? Do not hand it over to Sorrow. Do not give away power over your life. But don't commit murder either; sadness can be a healthy part of who you are.   Choose where you permit Sorrow to live with discretion because it could potentially leave treacherous ground in your life.

What is In a Name?

What is in a name? Identity? Familiarity? Knowledge? A name is nothing more than a label that we give something. Sometimes it seems as if a name is only a simple title, but I do not find this to be true. "A rose by any other name would smell as sweet," but a rose does not have the ability to make decisions. A rose is not aware that it even has a name. And a rose by another name would confuse people. After all, it is of names of people that I am speaking of now. The tongue has a curious power; the words it speaks have the capacity to influence people. Names are words, but most of us are simply ignorent of their meaning. A title can control your life, if not only sway your disposition slightly. Although this is not true in every case, I have found that my name is a fairly large part of my nature. But a name is more than a temperament; it is a badge. Some dislike and disdain their names, but I hold mine in high regard. It was given to me by my parents, the name of my father, and I plan to pass it on to my son. Titles have the potential to inspire faith in a person if connected with the idea of a man or woman of strength and dignity. Names hold power stronger that most are aware and many are willing to credit. So, do not look down on your name or its meaning. Pick it up out of the dirt, dust it off, and put it on a shelf for all to see. Be glad to have a title by which people can recognize you. Be proud of your identity.

Selfishness (Spoken Word)

My Selfishness is a shell that I wear on my back
It's a shield from my cares, worries, dreams, thoughts, friends, family, love, attack.
I duck and I hide and I cower behind an image of myself constructed by myself for reasons not even I am fully aware of
For I want to love
But I am Selfish 
For I wish to care
But I am Selfish 
For I want to believe
But I am Selfish 
For I wish . . .

For I am the sum of me
Myself added up together, my soul, my mind, my body, my, my, my, my, my . . .
But truth be told,  I flee from myself
I love myself so much that I hate me.

Apathy is sword I use to strike down, DEAD, the thoughts which inch me towards the boundaries of my comfort
I put on the hat of an actor and I act like I DO NOT CARE
But no matter who I am fooling, I am not fooling me.
Life is unjust and though the masses scream, "THIS IS NOT FAIR."
I sit by with glazed eyes and a broken heart staring off into nothing so I do not have to look into the faces of the hurting.
Because I too know pain, and I too was once dying of a hemorrhage of emotion
But my ID took over my SUPEREGO damaging my EGO in the motion
Now I sit by as life shifts past
doing what is pleasing to me
but the longer I waste my heart loses hope that at last my mind will see.

For I am the sum of me
Myself added up together with my soul, my mind, my body, my, my, my, my, my . . .
But truth be told, I flee from myself
I love myself so much that I . . . hate . . . me.

Rally Your Hope

Growing up is not all it is cracked up to be. Life is hard; being a kid is easy. When you are young the world is your oyster. A child has the potential to be literally anything. I mean, they are able to achieve even the most difficult of goals. However, as we live we lose our potential. The sand in our hourglass slips through open fingers as we permit our lives to run out. The longer we live the harder it is to attain the greatness we once sought, just due to the daily decisions every person makes. We close our own doors through inaction. The perfect time to begin will never arrive. Therefore it is imperative that we make our own perfect time. No longer can we give up dreams to death for idleness. It is murder. Apathy is reckless endangerment of our lives; it kills all we care for. How can we stand by as death creeps up on our hope? We tell our children to shoot for the stars, to dream big because the sky is the limit, and yet we slide through life heedless of our own advice. Stop! Quite wasting your potential! Open your eyes, you blind man, and see! There is nothing restraining you but yourself and your own fear, hate, discomfort, apprehension, loathing, distress, anxiety, laziness, apathy. Awake, sleeper! Dream, dreamer! Truly live, rather than waiting. What are you waiting for? An invitation? "Stop asking if you can achieve greatness and take it." Have you realized what I have yet? We must cease delaying and realize our dreams: seize our hopes. Build wings for flight if you must, but for the sake of heaven above and the earth as we live on it take action. Do not return to your procrastination after reading this. Do not simply be roused to inaction. Do not open the door to apathy. Rally your hope.

Speech

I thought, since the title of my blog is Hope Itself, that I should post my valedictorian speech on the subject of Hope. So, here it is.

Hope. A simple, four-letter word. But what is it? What does it mean? "Hope is the thing with feathers," writes Emily Dickenson. Merriam Webster calls hope the expectation of fufillment. I say that hope is a choice. A choice to stand up each day and move towards a goal. To improve upon our weaknesses and grow stronger. Hope is not an intangable ideal but rather a definitive action. Failure to take this action is failure to believe in the future. That future will be difficult, and life will have challenges, but we have all been equiped with the tools to surmount those obstacles, stand on our own two feet, and hope. High school is the best place to learn about hope because high school only has one goal. It is not to learn mathematics, or English, or science, or languages. High school is to prepare for the future. We are taught to form our own thoughts and opinions and we learn to become our own people, people with their own dreams and aspirations. I, for one, have decided to follow my dreams and hope in my future. And let me tell you, that future is bright, because we, today's students, are the future. Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you the graduating class of 2011.

Insanity, Inconsistancy

Outside, the rain is falling so thick that you can barely see three feet in front of you. If you go outside in the rain without an umbrella, which makes more sense: that you will be soaked completely and instantaneously, or that you will be dry? That you will be as wet as water itself, of course! How about if you go outside in 1,000 degree weather without sunscreen? You will be burnt to a crisp, no question. What if you see a child who is about to be hit by a car? Would you push them out of the way and save them? What if you were the driver? Would you still speed? Dp you speed? Just as occurrences in nature demand consistency, we must have it in our lives. Without it, what can possibly make sense. Things have an order and a stability to them that is impossible to argue with. It is intolerable to live in such a way that there is no order. In such a world, there would be no truth. There would be no logic. there would be no knowledge, science, love, art, language, communication, religion, or sanity. If we are not consistant, we have no foundation to build a life on. Inconsistency literally is insanity. Saying one thing, but acting on the contrary is madness. If we speed, we endanger not just children, but everyone around us. So how can we then profess the sanctity of human life? As humans, it is our goal, no it is our responsibility to get our priorities, philosophies, and ideologies straight. Once we know what we believe, then we need to live it. It is not enough to simply know, for knowledge in and of itself helps no man. It is the function, the actual use of the knowledge as a tool that proves its usefulness. So think a little. Decide what you believe. Find the holes and inconsistencies in your life and patch them up with action. I live a vastly different life than I wish to live, and that is okay as long as I am still striving to reach my goal of consistency. Remember: insanity, inconsistency.

Read Between the Lines (A Short Monologue)

I live a simple life. I wake up every mourning and shower and eat a 
My existence is broken. Pitiful. Once upon a time, I was a revolutionary, but now I am broken. 
small breakfast of toast and milk. I ride my bike though the 
Once I cried for rebellion, but not I . . . just . . . cry. I wander through a desert of people, each a 
crowded street to my job. I love my job. I work in a wonderful 
grain of sand is another hopeless face. I slave away in a dirty, gray cubicle for a dirty, gray 
building. I work in a wonderful cubicle. I work for a wonderful 
government that works only for their own interests. It uses and WASTES the very people it
man. He works for the wonderful government. The wonderful 
professes to protect. Those in power attempt to control the masses. They break us down until
government works with my best interests in mind. They never waste. 
we know nothing but mindless brokenness. Oppression from above. They feed us ridiculous
. .After I work through the mourning, I eat and apple for lunch. An 
propaganda, wasting our potential. Words loose their meaning when passing between smashed 
apple a day keeps the doctor away. After I work through the 
pots, vessels, with no hope and empty eyes. We hide, we HIDE our faces, unable to break
afternoon, I chat with the secretary. After we chat, I ride my 

through. Without hope, the masses are swindled into apathy. They will die without someone 

bicycle through the cobblestone street back home. I eat soup for 
to raise them up. We will die without someone to raise us up. Once upon a time I was a 
dinner. Alone. I read the newspaper. Alone. I watch television. 
revolutionary, but now I am broken. Once I cried for rebellion but now I cry for a savior.
Alone. I go to bed. Alone. I live a simple life. I wake up every 
Save us. My existence is broken . . . Pitiful.
mourning and shower and eat a small breakfast of toast and milk
. . .