Redemption Road.

For a long time I was plagiarizing,

fantasizing bout the things I could be.

Covering tracks, micromanaging,

the man as people saw me.

Took a picture looked at it now,

thinking, I have no idea how,

where did I go? who was I?

I was blind but still screaming out loud. 

I was lying, copy and pasting,

being something I wasn’t suppose to be.

Hardly & heartlessly living out something else entirely. 

Count them, forwards backwards inside & I was out of excuses, 

the place I resided was entirely my own fault. Useless and ruthless. 

I knew that I knew the things that I should do, yet

I still choose to do the things that I knew would make me loose.

Loose my mind, loose my heart,

loose my sanity, leave me out in the cold.

Loose my senses, loose my sight,

loose my peace, I’m loosing my soul. 

Started at the bottom and the bottom is where I stayed,

I played games, never changed, ashamed of my own name. 

Where I am today says nothing about what I can do or change,

I am who I am because there’s a God that saves. 


Black Consumption.

Why is it the artist who suffers alone? 
Is it because she has not noticed her identity?
Because she confuses the stillness of the night as an isolation from others?
No, she is not motivated by the world. Because she doesn’t believe in her own power.
She dreams of that power night and day. But the slightest ounce of self worth, she does not own.
She’s never tested herself. She’s never put herself out there.
It’s More than a fear of failure, she is so private…Vulnerability frightens her.
She’s alone in her chambers. Haunted slowly by the peering darkness. Captured by the stillness and the silence of writer’s glee.
There is no one for her.
No one that satisfies her yearn for rushes under the moonlight.
No one that desires to taste the unknown. The wicked. And The soul.
there is no one.
But she’ll keep driving until she sees before her, her hearts mysteries released into the winds .

In the Beginning...

For as long as I can remember, i’ve always been fascinated with old photographs, I think partly the reason I enjoy photography so much was because of the boxes of photographs my grandmother’s kept. It was such a treat to look through bits and pieces of my past, of who came before me, what they looked like, how they dressed, where they lived. It’s a pretty amazing sort of “I wonder what they were like when they were young?” especially when you see photos of your grandmother when she was your current age, and younger… 

After doing some cleaning at my mom’s house, we came across the holy grail of photos… some of them date back to 1900s or maybe even earlier, it’s hard to tell, and we can only imagine by looking at the subject and guessing their age at the time.  So, yesterday I began the painstaking process of digitizing old photos to preserve and archive them for future generations of our family. Right now, my kids aren’t so excited to look through these photos, because they have no connection to those people… but some day, when they are grown up and have children of their own, and they inherit the furniture of grandmothers past, they’ll wonder what she was like, what she might have written at that desk a hundred or more years ago… This will serve as a starting point for exploring and sorting out their history and those who came before them. In the meantime, it’s a great way to share some great photos. 

All the words that I come up with, They’re like gasoline on flames, There’s no excuse, No explanation, Believe me, If I could I’d undo what I did wrong.
If I promised you, I’ll regain control, Will you open your door, And let me in?
Take me for who I am
And not for who I’ve been? #willyoubelieve #believeinme #truth #trust #promises #sorry #noexcuses #explainations #undothewrong #forgiveme #regaincontrol #you #letmein #whoiam #whoiwas #thisisme #takemeasiam #apologies #cangetthroughit #alwaysbethere