Black Beaches

The fine concept of divinity. The wavering pull of purpose. Where do we go when our oceans run dry? Where do we quench an unwavering thirst?

As of late, my mind has been consumed by the waters of my finest creations, the midnight messages that keep me from my slumber. The rise of dawn piercing through the window, a candle that still flickers. The remnants of the smoke of my essence on the bedside table, still reminds me of my sad memories. I cannot go back to sleep but can only stare at the ceiling, in desperation, asking my eyes to let me dream again.

In this time, we can escape the polluted waters that keep us from our liberation. Forced to be kept in structure, like an essay, only to ask someone else to make the final judgement. Some of us are like the underdog, the ones likely to lose. The quiet ones who wish to stay within the shadows and busk to the viewers of our madness. In some odd, yet poetic, way we are driven to abide by the norm. The melancholy or the despair of our frustrations where we have nothing, or the lack of anything.

But my power does not lie in others, not in this sweet smile or soft complexion. It lies in my voice, the vocal palette of the tongue I was given, to empower others to rise up from the seas.

I embody a fear that walks by me, a shadow in the mirror, like a friend who is lost. The gentle girl who is too soft and cold sets forth with a passion to radiate the warmth that sits under her eyes. The timid darling who will shout to the stars for kindness and create for the gods to admire.

I will refrain from being consumed by these black beaches. And instead, bring a world of colour. For which I can sit in melancholy without the shades of dark blue turned black. Vibrant minds seeking freedom and purple shades of twilight come, a midday slumber that brings forth a line of poems of your ex-lover. The soft colours of your sunset chest, the dim light of your verander's shelter, and you find, a moment of silence, that brings you to better clarity. Here you are, now, right now, and no matter what you seem to fear, you are yet to rise.

Let me say it now, that we all are creators of our own salvation. The evolution of our finest renaissance, us, we—the collection of the rebellious souls who are wet from the masturbation of our art.

To you, sweet reader, let this empower you to ride the waves and to submerge in the possibilities that lie ahead of you. Don't dilute yourself and be any less than what you dream of. Messy, raw, undeniably complex. Continue to rise against the unknown and embrace the purity of your own individuality. Grow into something extraordinary from the foundations of your rebirth. Follow your intuition to the honeymoon of your greatest passions. Be as sweet as the soft peaches on your neighbour's tree in the summer and as wide and wavering as the ocean on a stormy spring evening. Refuse to leave life unsettled and don't be any less than your wildest dreams. Create memories through worn out polaroids that you find in your old journals. Look at yourself in the mirror like the heaven that you are. And finally, cry out to the void as the hills you walk up bring you closer to the stars.

Because to be human, is to be an artist. To be human, is to be an underdog.