Instagram Inspiration




So this morning on Instagram I saw this photo posted by Natgeo. Under was a description of the history of the photo (I shall paraphrase). In 2009, Tiwonge and Steven were the first gay couple to marry in Malawi. In December of that same year they were also arrested and sentenced to fourteen years in prison because they married.

This photo is a beautiful portrait that captures the somberness of the constant struggle to live an equal life.


Then I saw the comment below. I’m sure it was just one of many but it was the first one I saw.

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And I mean within this comment alone there were so many blatant hypocrisies, it’s impossible to take gianhockey85’s argument seriously.   There are also a ton of other lessons/quotes from “the damn bible” that mention: hate the sin love the sinner, treat thy neighbor as thyself, acceptance etc. But to answer the question, “. . . if [you’re] born a boy [you’re] a boy why the hell would you dress like a girl?” It’s the same thing as asking, “Why are you wearing that shirt?” “Why are you dressing up to go out?” You wear what you think makes you look good and FEEL good. You wear what is comfortable on your skin. You wear clothes that reflect what you want to express.


First, you want to deny people the right to love whomever they choose. Then you want to deny the right to a free life. And now you want to police how they dress? To deny another equality—to forbid them from even gaining the opportunity/possibility to experience happiness in same way as you is to dictate their quality of life. Condemning them to a lonely existence all because you don’t approve how they see themselves. All of that just shows me how your insecurities make you a person consumed by fear.




12. Watching The Hula

Race has been a thing for me.
Ethnicity has been a thing.
The ignorant haole in Hawai`i
has been a thing for me.

I’ve held captive
a deep hatred for those
haole, those foreign,
those who came to destroy
to take and to claim
what never belonged to them.

But seeing the Merrie Monarch competition
watching the hula–
I was very mistaken.
Hula knows no race, no age,
and holds no detest in her heart.
Hula only promotes
aloha and gratitude,
beauty and grace.

The dancers exude passion
in the stories they tell–
each kāholo extending their love
of the Hawaiian culture,
each ʻuwehe implanting the images
of the lovely ʻāina,
and each ʻami captivating the audience
with excitement and wonder.

Hula unifies all those
native and foreign.
Hula is aloha.
Hula is love.

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6. Not Admitting This Wound

Inspired by Emily Dickinson’s, “A not admitting of the wound (1188)”.

Not admitting this wound.
It is not an open sore.
It does not drip
with warm crimson blood.
Infection does not reign my flesh.

My heart has not drained.
It does not know sorrow.
It is not shattered,
nor is it broken.

Scars do not tarnish my skin.
There are no traces
of slashes from that knife
No marks to remind me of pain.

Not admitting this wound.
I am not battered and bruised–
not defeated nor beaten.
You have not won.
I am not your victim.

Not admitting this wound.

4. Continue In Strength

In college,
there was dis haole chick.
I don’t remember her face,
her hair color,
not even her name–
but I vividly
remember her words.

She was one of those
you know self-proclaimed
prestigious, intelligent,
nose in the air
high maka maka mainland girls.

While we were in English class,
in a circle,
having a discussion bout some book,
she sat there to my right,
and without hesitation said,
“Yeah, like the Hawaiians were definitely
oppressed before,
but I don’t think
they are oppressed anymore.”

“prolonged cruel or unjust treatment
or control”

“the state of being subject to unjust treatment
or control”

what Hawaiians have been suffering through
but still find the spirit to fight against
despite the odds;
despite the ignorance of others;
despite the constant uphill battle.

through the many faces of adversities
continue to show their aloha,
their mana,
their persistence,
and their belief in their culture.

Kānaka Maoli
continue in strength.

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2. ‘Tis Only

’Tis anything but sturdy.
A moment —
so brief,
so delicate,
so precious,
but so fleeting.

’Tis anything but forceful.
Each day–
slowly emerging
into existence,
seeking permission
at every step.

’Tis anything but loud.
Reaching it’s climax–
it’s merely a whisper
a quiet, radiant thrill
filling the body
with sweet,
gentle pleasure.

’Tis only,
but a flower–
made to grace the days
with beauty.


1. Born To Me

There is something innate in me.
born to me.
that lingers as I grow.
that shifts as I move.
that reassures me
through the changes.

It’s light,
graciously kind,
abundantly caring,
dangerously curious
faithfully honest,
and annoyingly persistent.

Protected from the mind–
from the deviant thoughts
the constant insecurities
and the wavering confidence.

It is there.
It is raw.
It is spirit.

Not Just for Children: Top 10 Fairytales Written for Adults

Just Browsing

Fairytales might seem to belong to childhood—the magical talking animals, the wishes and the transformations and yes, even the fairies. But if you look closely (and past the Disney interpretations) you’ll discover that fairytales are fairly dark and more than a little bit terrifying. Not only for children after all. Here is a list of ten fairytale retellings written for adults (and teens):

content.chilifreshThe Snow Child by Eowyn Ivie: This retelling of the Russian fairy tale “The Snow Maiden” is also a historical novel. It is the story of Jack and Mabel, who’ve left their fairly safe but exceedingly sad life in 1920’s Pennsylvania for the Alaskan frontier. Sad because, except for one stillborn, they never were able to have children, and all of the family reminders around them (the nieces and nephews, the new babies, the excited couples marrying) were just too much. Of course, life in Alaska is…

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I left the safety of my home–
my island of serenity and comfort.
I left and then discovered
more than ever expected.

As a spectator,
watching the veil
fall upon the land
now cloaked in a stifling mess,
I saw ignorance
become our national handicap.

It slowly began to blind us
from seeing the alternative,
limiting us to a binary world–
restricting our sight,
filtering it through either
black or white lenses.

It started to affect our ears
keeping us deaf
to the cries for help–
leaving us confined
to our soundproof bubbles
as our fellow sisters and brothers

It made us numb–
unable to feel or experience
any sort of unconditional love,
coaxing us to believe
that we must arm ourselves,
for the world is our enemy.

It left us with a bitter taste–
foul flavors to fester
on our tongues,
spoiling the purity
of our words.

It finally surrounded us in a lingering stench
that evoked memories
of our fears and pain–
forcing us to remain in our pasts,
waste our present,
and corrupt our future.

Distance focused my vision.
I had been living my life through filters as well:
the most popular colored glasses
allowing me to fit in with the cool kids,
noise canceling earphones
selecting only what I wanted to hear,
thick fuzzy gloves
making me feel comfortable
despite the coarse textures of reality.
All of these hindering
the authenticity of my senses–
distorting the facts of what I thought existed.

4,541 miles of perspective,
I am awake.
I am alive.
I can see.