Poem

In a society which uses the media to define beauty, imposing twisted ideals of what a woman should or should not look like, it is difficult to define beauty at all. Similar to a dying rose. One may say… ”My what a beautiful flower. Fighting endlessly until its death”. While I favor the vessel in which it was captive. As young men emerging from such a cruel world, we are taught false ideals of manhood. And become captive to such ideals with time. Am I ruined like that rose clinging to a fleeting existence whose seed has unarguably been skewed? Or simply waiting to blossom, similar to the many women conflicted, unsure of their value. Don’t die I ask you. Because if no one has ever told you that you’re beautiful. I want you to know that you are…

Charles Lamar Garrison
DOC #A496360