Narcissism

It's a beautiful thing to cut loose, the gravity that pulls you into every universe' center.

To see & truly see. I mean, see beyond me. To see that when I enter another's space, they are the center of their universe, & I too must honor that.

The world's got more to gain from losing oneself in union; from looking through universal perspectives.
Not me, but us. Nor home, but country.

Not only am I my brothers' keeper, I wash my brothers' feet. Not because I have little esteem for self..
Au contraire..
As a result of the love I have come to encounter through the self.

Woman

Always, this worship over loving a woman. Rarely a word on how to make him smile, that man on the corner. 

Are we made equal? And if we are, where's the equality in all the drama over this woman's existence? 

A strong woman; A sexy woman; Treat her like a queen; She's a down-ass chick.

Just how many labels do we give in praise of our men for every ten thousand labels of blessings we shower upon our women? My guess is, it's a one-size fits all kind of deal.  

We seem to be churning out men who are mostly trying to be like the next man. Or is it the men who have exchanged their wider periphery for a staple identity? The gentleman.   

One may want to argue who has it worse this present day- the woman or the gentleman?

I see only where humanity has had the potential for creativity and has opted out. 

We do not have to label ourselves and prop our entire existence in a box beneath the Christmas tree. Making of ourselves a gift to fit one occasion, we forget that we are indeed larger than life itself! 

While the modern woman struggles against the one-size fits all identity, it would appear to me, the men are settling into it for themselves. 

Now, if we had a scenario of a world that churned out more Mother Teresa's and Princess Diana's through the ages, a world with more female archetypes that served as role models. 

If the women of the world saw just a handful more of larger than life characters on the world stage, as the men steadily do, what would the female demographic look like?

I mean, as it were, women are left to their antiques, left to design the characters of their choosing. 

Now, pop culture and the media seem to be lagging behind in this arena.

They either do not know what women want, or they are deliberately working to stifle the soaring image of a modern day woman.

How similar is her semblance to the women who tended to their homes and lands and kingdoms while their husbands and kings went to war? How similar is her semblance to the women even before then?

It may serve us well to refer to our history, as we decide the destiny, as well as the emergence of the modern day woman. 

It may serve us just as well, to remember that ultimately, we are of a species of homosapiens, and while neither science nor the evolution of ages come with an instruction manual, societal rules are a gift of creativity.

We hold the liberty to choose who we become, independent of any and all labels, proceeding from lady to gentleman. 

The man may seem to be at his pinnacle, the man may seem to be found, fitting himself into a structure of manhood yet resisting his pure identity as soul. 

When you look in the mirror, do you see what you have been told to see?

Have you been told that you're black? Have you been told that you're of the upper class and can't look back?

What have you been told? 

That you are a man. That you are to decide the direction to which the ship sails. That you are an uncle, a brother, a father, a soldier, and a gentleman. These labels, when you look in the mirror, and you hear a voice that isn't yours tell you your name; Do they cause you a mixed feeling of pride and pressure? Do they cause you to feel such a burden, beneath which you have lost touch to your dreams, to your voice, to your identity and pleasures?

A woman might hold her head up high and say she has fought to be where she is today. Let her do her bold peacock dance- she is after all a beauty to behold.

All the world wants to tame her; all the world fights to discover her, to name her.

But how so do we forget our men?