Humans are busy. Laced with the strive to become people with identities, to be more than what they were born with and they taste in their gums and their tongue, this dream to be more an individual. Oh, to be an individual who beats out the masses. Confronted with a world of identities, man-made identities, spending decades trying to carve out one of their own in hopes to find it and understand one day. To be a human without an identity is terrifying.

Humans are slippery, humans yearn for the chance to taste of something they’ve never seen before, to taste fulfillment when they’ve only got 100 years or less, and humans search all their lives in places fulfillment can’t be found. Hollowed out places with green and blood-shot red, with teeth rotting and bodies aching and the man-made contentments falsehoods routinely lounge.

Humans are born seeking security. Born into an always shaking, shuddering world, the earth under their feet can split and shudder and threaten the little solace they carry, (if they ever knew it in the first place) humans hold on. Humans live for today, fear for tomorrow, humans fear but scream and live, and humans are both the makers of their story and their own destruction.

Humans are terrified of other humans. Humans are terrified of the world around them. Humans are terrified, yet all the same, their own undoing.

Humans are. The same. There’s some point here, the point of human condition, but human condition can’t be found so much as a man from Brooklyn taking the train to the stranger on my screen I may meet one day, to someone I’ll never meet, tens of thousands miles between. We are people, the same, defined by our differences but deeply alike. It’s lonely yet invigorating.

Humans are the same, yet humans are my father, my brother, they are made of the world that makes up me. Humans are the blood and bone that make my flesh, just as they make up yours. They are the river of tears that trail down your eyes, the babble of words that falls from your lips, the little bits of humanity that trace up our skin, they are you, same as me.

Humans are.


4 thoughts on “Humans”

  1. I think that incorporating an artistic perspective and actually implementing these works shakes up blog posts to another level. I also loved the physical imagery that you used here.

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