I become tired of this illustrious “look at me, look at me” culture,
Of consumerism waiting at every corner,
Vanity grabbing at every created insecurity,
Promising a future
That holds no true roots,
And of the ever-widening gap of hate and seperation.
I become tired, yet here I am,
Caught between two worlds,
my own shadows and desires,
My own engagement,
And lack thereof,
My own grief and praise,
My own heartbreak
And heart beat,
My own mistakes,
And lessons learned.
Here I am,
Caught
Between giving a f$ck
And not giving a f$ck.
Somehow within this mess of it all,
And my own hypocrisy,
I have come to find
That I don’t want to see “perfect” anymore,
Nor do I wish for the broken,
As my heart grieves for this aching world.
I have come to find,
That what I do wish for,
is for beauty to righteously live on.
The kind of beauty
Found in a mothers love and her hope for the future
As she stands before war machines,
To protect her children.
The kind of beauty in a starving grandfather’s eyes
As he gives away his
long awaited meal
To the wounded strangers which lie before him,
And not to be be of noble standing,
But because he understands what empathy truly means.
The kind of beauty that glimpses beyond shallow measures
So it can see its own humanity
Glimmering within the eyes of others.
The kind of beauty,
That takes us away from our incessant nagging minds
Which seek to divide,
And shows us
how freedom is found
Within belonging.
And I think about this often, sometimes it brings me to tears,
About the certain special kind of beauty,
which has lost absolutely everything,
Yet still dances in the storm.
Mar 9
Mar 9, 2026 at 6:36 PM UTC
I become tired of this illustrious “look at me, look at me” culture,
Of consumerism waiting at every corner,
Vanity grabbing at every created insecurity,
Promising a future
That holds no true roots,
And of the ever-widening gap of hate and seperation.
I become tired, yet here I am,
Caught between two worlds,
my own shadows and desires,
My own engagement,
And lack thereof,
My own grief and praise,
My own heartbreak
And heart beat,
My own mistakes,
And lessons learned.
Here I am,
Caught
Between giving a f$ck
And not giving a f$ck.
Somehow within this mess of it all,
And my own hypocrisy,
I have come to find
That I don’t want to see “perfect” anymore,
Nor do I wish for the broken,
As my heart grieves for this aching world.
I have come to find,
That what I do wish for,
is for beauty to righteously live on.
The kind of beauty
Found in a mothers love and her hope for the future
As she stands before war machines,
To protect her children.
The kind of beauty in a starving grandfather’s eyes
As he gives away his
long awaited meal
To the wounded strangers which lie before him,
And not to be be of noble standing,
But because he understands what empathy truly means.
The kind of beauty that glimpses beyond shallow measures
So it can see its own humanity
Glimmering within the eyes of others.
The kind of beauty,
That takes us away from our incessant nagging minds
Which seek to divide,
And shows us
how freedom is found
Within belonging.
And I think about this often, sometimes it brings me to tears,
About the certain special kind of beauty,
which has lost absolutely everything,
Yet still dances in the storm.
