I hate to start off by saying woes me, I guess I can just retort into explaining why I am the way I am. When I was a child, no matter how ugly my life was at that apparent moment, I saw the light at the end of the tunnel, there were no questions of right and wrong to my actions, as a child, I saw the rose and not it's painful thorns, we saw the world comforting and believed there was a band-aid for everything and so many possibilities could have been achieved. Life was beautiful. We took time to basically smell the roses and enjoyed the company of our friends, the worst that ever happened between friends was someone took a toy away. I'm much older now , 30 to be exact, and this world, this place that was once so magical, is now descended, bleak, almost hopeless to achieve the dreasm we once had, to be a Dr., a firefighter ( we can do anything, we are told to believe) but nobody had ever told us it costs money, and more of it now then ever to get a great education. Living prices are high, and the value of a dollar is now at one of it's lowest. Maybe I was oblivious as a child of the dangers of the world, and i'm unsure if my age has anything to do with how I see this world now. I never heard such things as child rape, children being kidnapped for sole purposes of getting hurt and this degree of poverty.This place we live in is turning ugly. I see dirt, filth,preversion, people digging in trash cans to fine something to warnish off of all to keep food on their children's plates, hopeless mirrored eyes looking back through the lens, I do photography. I mainly do street shots, just to show the hardships of living and expose how life really is, to sheltered, over satisfied, over saturated people, driving their Lexus SUVs while talking on their 400 dollar cell phones, speaking about how hard they have it, while their Starbucks coffee becomes luke warm and the song Hannah Montana just ended. I see things differently then most people, perhaps a martyr and my camera is my witness,, but it doesn't show the battle that swims deep in my bowels, it doesn't capture the constant clawing of my spirit to stretch free from this cacoon. I hide it pretty well saved the scars on my arms and wrists, i never believed that this was suppose to be my life, robbed and slandered, and now I am on three medications to keep me from longing that blade across my throbbing veins, blood, velvet blue wishing to drip on the floor into crimson vitae. I wear my despair like a badge of honor clipped nicely to the breast of my shirt, and people view it, " my dear what beautiful artist you are....keep up the wonderful work" Can't anyone see me?