To Kill The Giant

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Tag: plastic surgery

Measures in Time

The eternal smile, worn tight, fosters an agist culture that demands youthfulness. Constant bombardment of natural cures, anti aging creams, cool sculpting to going under the knife for the sake of erasing time stares back at you in the mirror. The deep circles or sagging neck, the jowls all define the human person as it ages. The greying of the hairs, crows feet flying, smaller eyes, are but the signs of father time and the measures he places upon the human body.
The time it took someone to experience life, to outgrow diapers, to spell, read and write, hit their first baseball, or learn to ride a bike, is wiped away. Where did the line go that signified true loss and pain or , the moment you captured love in the eyes of another? Is it magically lessened? Sent away in one knife and one pull of the skin? Where did the smile upon attending the grandchild’s first birthday go? What happened to the wrinkle that upturned on its own, that symbolized the marriage to the love of your life? The frown line when you scrunched your face thinking? That cuteness with abandonment filled by botox. When the character lines are erased, where might have the character of the moment of that particular memory have gone? Each subtle pull of the fingers, tightening ever so gently, takes away what life intended you remember. The scar from falling in the river on oysters, the laugh lines from the comedy club, a night spent with friends to the minutest engravings left behind after the worst breakup, where has it gone? Holding the lifeless furry body of your best friend after getting hit by the car, where is the life line on you to connect you to that moment? It’s gone. This is life found in the memories of your skin, character lines of where you have been, and what your soul has experienced.
The attention placed on the soul must be greater than the attention placed on the outward appearance if one is to remain forever young.

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The Jokers Smile

The eternal smile, worn tight, fosters an agist culture that demands youthfulness. Constant bombardment of natural cures, anti aging creams, cool sculpting to going under the knife for the sake of erasing time stares back at you in the mirror. The deep circles or sagging neck, the jowls all define the human person as it ages. The greying of the hairs, inset eyes, are but
The time it took someone to experience life, to outgrow diapers, to spell, read and write, hit their first baseball, or learn to ride a bike, is wiped away. Where did the line go that signified true loss and pain or , the moment you captured love in the eyes of another? Is it wiped away in one knife and one pull of the skin? Where did the smile upon attending the grandchild’s first birthday get whisked away to? What happened to the wrinkle that upturned on its own, that symbolized the marriage to the love of your life? When the character lines are erased, where might have the character of the moment of that particular memory have gone? Each subtle pull of the fingers, tightening ever so gently, takes away what life intended you remember. The scar from falling in the river on oysters, the laugh lines from the comedy club, a night spent with friends to the minutest engravings left behind after the worst breakup, where has it gone? Holding the lifeless furry body of your best friend after getting hit by the car, where is the life line on you to connect you to that moment? It’s gone. This is life found in the memories of your skin, character lines of where you have been, and what your soul has experienced.
The attention placed on the soul must be greater than the attention placed on the outward appearance if one is to remain forever young.

The Timeless Red Ribbon

The box appeared on the doorstep. The red bow, the allure of a gift awaited the recipient. Redemption in a package. But for whom? The seller or the receiver?
The age didn’t matter now, only what she carried with her, in her heart and mind. No one was paying attention. No one but her and what awaited in the bow tied red box.
A promise that was never delivered was now sitting on her front door step. For how long could it keep it’s promise? A day? A month? Perhaps, the box needed more time, for she was out of it, time having run out for her.
Still, ever so gingerly lifting the lid, was this what she had been waiting on for so many years?
The promises were never kept. Empty at most, at best, she moved on to other boxes with red pretty bows. Holding out hope even though her time had come and gone and now age was thought of as a thief, robbing the lucky wearer of a valiant resolution, only to have the lid shut on it again.
Another empty promise in a bottle found inside a box with a pretty red bow delivered to a front door step.
For her, time, the evil thief, had stolen it from her when she was not looking but the red bow never aged, it remained intact inside the white box holding the fountain of youth