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Part-Time Citizen
about.
about.
Welcome to the world of Part-Time Citizen. PTC is a platform that grants me the ability to engage with the world around me as I share my personal works. I invite you into this space to share a deep curiosity. A curiosity that has no boundaries and judgment. Take as little or as much as you want from what I share. Pass it on, internalize it, bury it. Who am I to decide? Part-time Citizen is a vehicle to explore the human experience and as the name suggests, escape it. We have a conception within society that we must be whole to fit into the world around us. We must pour the entirety of our beings into a singular career or identity. Although it seems like a powerless pursuit I ask you to join me in bringing light to all the fragmented pieces that make us whole.
projects.
projects.
From Sea To Sea
Part of me wonders who I would be if I never traveled from sea to sea,
Chasing what I now know as the deepest parts of me.
I didn’t know it then, but I do now,
That those moments between memories,
Allowed me to understand what it must be all about.
About the trees whose roots run deep within me,
Whispering lost promises that the world is mine to keep.
I sit in wonder now, thousands of miles away,
If what was once good is meant to stay.
Like flowers in a vase,
I will welcome my decay.
But let it be through cracked and weathered skin,
Etched with laughter and carved by tears,
That I am told stories of how time had its way.
All because I had the trust to ask myself,
“Show me the way.”
Chasing what I now know as the deepest parts of me.
I didn’t know it then, but I do now,
That those moments between memories,
Allowed me to understand what it must be all about.
About the trees whose roots run deep within me,
Whispering lost promises that the world is mine to keep.
I sit in wonder now, thousands of miles away,
If what was once good is meant to stay.
Like flowers in a vase,
I will welcome my decay.
But let it be through cracked and weathered skin,
Etched with laughter and carved by tears,
That I am told stories of how time had its way.
All because I had the trust to ask myself,
“Show me the way.”
A Visit To The Playground
They teach us perspective at a young age.
Playground fights extinguished with “put yourself in their shoes” before we learn to tie our own.
But as we grow older we come to the shameful truth that it might be a little harder than they told us.
With age perspective is clouded by the inability to connect with our playground selves.
We are taught to seek power, strive for greatness and to hold standards that are continuously out of reach.
But, what if there was an emerging practice that allows us to return to that very playground and stay awhile.
We practice gratitude, presence, awareness and ultimately forgiveness.
This practice is not hidden in the million self help books targeting various vulnerabilities. Although, the titles are rather compelling, advertising a quick fix.
The quickest fix is working towards the realization that unfortunately, it’s been us all along.
We are our biggest inhibitors.
We are our greatest prohibitors.
The answer will never be in reinvention, only reconnection.
Playground fights extinguished with “put yourself in their shoes” before we learn to tie our own.
But as we grow older we come to the shameful truth that it might be a little harder than they told us.
With age perspective is clouded by the inability to connect with our playground selves.
We are taught to seek power, strive for greatness and to hold standards that are continuously out of reach.
But, what if there was an emerging practice that allows us to return to that very playground and stay awhile.
We practice gratitude, presence, awareness and ultimately forgiveness.
This practice is not hidden in the million self help books targeting various vulnerabilities. Although, the titles are rather compelling, advertising a quick fix.
The quickest fix is working towards the realization that unfortunately, it’s been us all along.
We are our biggest inhibitors.
We are our greatest prohibitors.
The answer will never be in reinvention, only reconnection.
Mirrored Distortion
Dust to dust it is me you must lay to rest.
Not my body but your perceptions, measurements & modes of limited expectations.
I am me, I do not wish to be understood.
I am as much a mystery to myself as I am to others.
To you I am me.
To myself I am a distortion of that very fact.
Not my body but your perceptions, measurements & modes of limited expectations.
I am me, I do not wish to be understood.
I am as much a mystery to myself as I am to others.
To you I am me.
To myself I am a distortion of that very fact.
Passionate Extinction
I listened to a stranger at the bar tell me he enjoyed studying and practicing literature.
My heart perked up as if I had uncovered gold amongst dust.
Yet it was not that he was profoundly interesting.
Or the fact that the very nature of our environment juxtaposed his answer.
It was that I had strayed so far from what I once loved.
My heart perked up as if I had uncovered gold amongst dust.
Yet it was not that he was profoundly interesting.
Or the fact that the very nature of our environment juxtaposed his answer.
It was that I had strayed so far from what I once loved.
The Intimacy of Growing Up
One of the hardest things about growing up is in its very definition. We throw around growing up from the moment we are born until we lay to rest. As humans we are constantly growing with each new day. Visible and invisible, intimate as well as shared. The world is concerned with its pace as we have been conditioned to feel melancholy when seeing newborn. Reminding us we were once pure and malleable, now aimlessly autonomous and rigid.
Salt n' Sugar
It’s human nature to strive for a state of utter oneness with yourself. Attempting to “figure” ourselves out in hopes that only then will we find our inner purpose and peace. Maybe it's a gym routine, a loving partner or even a dream salary. All of these things when blended together should finally make the perfect recipe right? Directions, proper measurements, timing, repeat. It's what we are taught to desire. I do not wish to put shame on the proper path for there is not just one. Instead I hope to encourage making life from scratch. Enjoying equal parts salt and sugar. Personally, it has been when I put a splash of vanilla instead of a dash that I stumbled upon life's sweetest serendipity.
Spring Forward
Spring is here and suddenly I am made to remember how and why I love things.
Winters hibernation was pervaded with confusion and lack of pursuit.
Yet when the sun visited with me today we laughed like old friends and I offered my hearts trust to this new season.
Winters hibernation was pervaded with confusion and lack of pursuit.
Yet when the sun visited with me today we laughed like old friends and I offered my hearts trust to this new season.
Is There an Age Limit on Becoming an Astronaut
I think you can learn a lot about our world when you acknowledge the shift of one dominant question.
We ask our precious youth “what do you want to be when you grow up”
We ask the confined being “what do you want to do”
At what age did we evolve to shed a skin of limitlessness?
Whose hands dulled the colors of our unique skin that was home to a gold heart of hope?
Are the brave ones among us those who dare to go to the moon while wrinkles adorn their face?
Will the woman who dreamed of becoming a ballerina still be able to dance after carrying the weight of a family?
When did we become do-ers and undedicated to our own being?
We ask our precious youth “what do you want to be when you grow up”
We ask the confined being “what do you want to do”
At what age did we evolve to shed a skin of limitlessness?
Whose hands dulled the colors of our unique skin that was home to a gold heart of hope?
Are the brave ones among us those who dare to go to the moon while wrinkles adorn their face?
Will the woman who dreamed of becoming a ballerina still be able to dance after carrying the weight of a family?
When did we become do-ers and undedicated to our own being?
A Farmhouse Of My Own
When I see a house set away tucked neatly into the arms of nature I can't help but to feel the lines of my once tensed lips turn into a silly smile.
One that holds a promise of a future destined for two artists. not the one of them is a Picasso by any means but the simple means of how they carry out life places them in the galleries of the greats.
With a child’s smile my eyes close and for once there is not black desolation.
There is a sign to a farmhouse, it reads: “this is where years of anguish come to dissipate”
the writing is soft, the author was in no hurry, something that feels unfamiliar.
If I had not needed to open my eyes to meet my mothers I would see the grass grow taller than 23 years of worry, the pond shallower than my deepest fears, the porch wrapped lightly around the house unlike the grip I’ve attempt to hold.
Yes, the pond is shallow and grass tall.
But love is what will make this farmhouse of my mine my own.
One that holds a promise of a future destined for two artists. not the one of them is a Picasso by any means but the simple means of how they carry out life places them in the galleries of the greats.
With a child’s smile my eyes close and for once there is not black desolation.
There is a sign to a farmhouse, it reads: “this is where years of anguish come to dissipate”
the writing is soft, the author was in no hurry, something that feels unfamiliar.
If I had not needed to open my eyes to meet my mothers I would see the grass grow taller than 23 years of worry, the pond shallower than my deepest fears, the porch wrapped lightly around the house unlike the grip I’ve attempt to hold.
Yes, the pond is shallow and grass tall.
But love is what will make this farmhouse of my mine my own.
Precaution Over Survival
I yearn for a life of my own
One free of powerful gust & storm swells
One where umbrellas are a form of precaution not survival
One where the roofs over my head are the same arms that surround me
One free of powerful gust & storm swells
One where umbrellas are a form of precaution not survival
One where the roofs over my head are the same arms that surround me
The Great Divide
One day the mountains will move for us
Trails will split
All to reveal
What is truly meant for us
Trails will split
All to reveal
What is truly meant for us
Life & Art
I may not be an artist, but if it is true that life is art, who am I if not to appreciate their cohesion.
It's easy to be mad at life but, aren't we taught that if we look close enough at works of art there is always something to be appreciated.
How deep is the blue of your loneliness or the red of your ferocity?
How many times did you scratch your canvas? Only accompanied by the moon, reminding you of the hue of blankness ahead.
I may not know much but what a fool I would be to assume I can separate life from art.
It's easy to be mad at life but, aren't we taught that if we look close enough at works of art there is always something to be appreciated.
How deep is the blue of your loneliness or the red of your ferocity?
How many times did you scratch your canvas? Only accompanied by the moon, reminding you of the hue of blankness ahead.
I may not know much but what a fool I would be to assume I can separate life from art.
Breaking Swells
Breaks between waves are where we make a life out of living.
Acknowledging the privilege of breath.
Floating weightlessly rather than bracing for the next swell.
Even in the worst of seas there will be a small glint where the sky meets the ocean.
Whether it be by moonlight or sunlight these glints capture the little wonders and pleasures of life.
Acknowledging the privilege of breath.
Floating weightlessly rather than bracing for the next swell.
Even in the worst of seas there will be a small glint where the sky meets the ocean.
Whether it be by moonlight or sunlight these glints capture the little wonders and pleasures of life.
Free Bird
Free Bird stay awhile
Let me sing you a sweet melody
One to melt your tired wings
One to remind you Free Birds deserve a safe place to land too
Let me sing you a sweet melody
One to melt your tired wings
One to remind you Free Birds deserve a safe place to land too
Stagnant Nature of Melodies
Same tunes
Different blues
Different tunes
Same blues
Different blues
Different tunes
Same blues
Falling Backwards
Sometimes I wonder how many times I have died to then be reborn.
I don't mean the birth from the warmth of my mother.
I mean those times where pain has suffocated me so tightly I have had to relearn how to breathe.
For in these moments I melt into vulnerability and embody surrender.
Sometimes that is all you can do.
I allow myself to sit there for awhile but I have been through too much to make that place a home.
I have memories there.
I can see moments that fit into frames.
I have had these but it is time for me to inch towards the sky.
Pulling strengths out one by one.
Rising sometimes feels like falling backwards.
I guess I do not know until I get there that I have done it.
My own two feet float upon the surface rather than sink.
Suddenly before I know it
I am flying.
I don't mean the birth from the warmth of my mother.
I mean those times where pain has suffocated me so tightly I have had to relearn how to breathe.
For in these moments I melt into vulnerability and embody surrender.
Sometimes that is all you can do.
I allow myself to sit there for awhile but I have been through too much to make that place a home.
I have memories there.
I can see moments that fit into frames.
I have had these but it is time for me to inch towards the sky.
Pulling strengths out one by one.
Rising sometimes feels like falling backwards.
I guess I do not know until I get there that I have done it.
My own two feet float upon the surface rather than sink.
Suddenly before I know it
I am flying.
contact.
contact.
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