Note to Self

Sometimes I am certain that I am completely generic.
I  am a mass produced 8 1/2″ x 11″ glossy sheet of photo paper.
I decorate my stock identity with stock photos that meet the world’s stock expectations,
depicting instances of elation,
pixelated ink perfectly smeared across the faces of smiling children,
in happy families.
Memorialized moments,
a fabricated composition of uniqueness.

I am one of those bland image filled pieces of paper,
set beneath glass,
to compliment an eclectic mix of countless picture frames,
displayed on department store shelves.
My purpose: help a prospective buyer visualize what the future could hold–
for them.

I am pained to concede and accept
my purpose as a sheet of paper.
I exist merely as a filler until I can be replaced
trashed to make room for captured memories the continuation of my presence is not permitted to permeate
never even considered capable of holding a place of permanence
under the glass upon another’s mantle.

After all,
who purchases a frame for the stock photos
displaying strangers in the act of creating manufactured moments of supposed happiness? I am the prospect of better days that lay ahead in a frame for another’s future to fill.


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