By August 30, 2017 Uncategorized

This is me baring my soul.  It is me.  Standing.  Completely exposed.  For all to see.  This, in what is to be my most honest post, is a time for me to utter words I have not ever admitted out loud.  Not to anyone.  Not even really to me.  But today, I am ready.  Today, I am stronger than ever.  And I am almost healed.

Have you ever found yourself stuck down in a deep, dark hole?  Alone… And sad?  So far down, you weren’t actually sure you’d ever be able to claw your way out?  So deep in it, that you didn’t think happiness would ever find you?  So dark, that life no longer felt worth living?  I have.

I remember it as if it were just yesterday.  My father was sitting on the edge of the hospital bed that was in our living room.  He looked up at me and patted the bed next to him, beckoning me to come sit.  I smiled and walked over, taking the spot next to him on his bed.  He glanced over at me with what could only be described as mischief in his eyes… “What?” I asked.  “I bet you never thought your father would be skinnier than you,” he said with a chuckle.  Taken aback a bit, I looked at him and, even though I knew it was a lie, responded, “You’re not skinnier than me.”  He lifted one eyebrow.  “Wanna make a bet?”  Then he nudged me with his elbow.  “What?”  “Lift your arm.”  I picked up my arm that was closest to him, and glanced at him.  “See if you can wrap your fingers around your upper arm and touch them.”  I obliged.  The gap between my thumb and middle finger was less than an inch.  “Yeah… So?”  I said, knowing full well what was coming next.  Then he lifted his arm.  “Now do mine.”  Reluctantly, I wrapped my fingers around is bicep.  My fingers met, overlapping so that my thumb covered the nail of my middle finger.  A lump grew in my throat as I looked up and met my father’s gaze.  “I win,” he said with a smile.  I managed a small chuckle as the tears formed in my eyes.

The sound of a lawn mower broke the awkward silence that had suddenly blanketed the room.  “The back yard is kind of a mess, huh?”  I shrugged.  “I guess.  It’s no big deal though.”  After a small pause he continued, “Well, I’d rather be cutting down weeds than pushing up daisies!”  Then he laughed.  I did too.  But this time the tears couldn’t stay in.  I quickly got up and left the room.

A few weeks later, in the wee hours of the morning, I lay awake in bed.  The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled my nostrils.  I could hear the clanks of a spoon in a coffee cup, and the hushed tones of my aunt talking to my cousin.  The time had arrived where 24 hour care was necessary.  We rotated between staying by my father’s side, and getting some sleep.  Though no one was really sleeping.  We were all just waiting…….

“Something’s happening!”  A panicked voice came from the living room.  In seconds we were all there, standing around my father, as he took what would be his final breath.  At first I had a deep sense of urgency…  Like something needed to happen.  “Who do we call?!  What do we do??  MOM!  Do something!”  But my panic was met with calm.  Like true matriarchs, my mother and aunt handled the situation with so much dignity and grace.  The room fell silent, and I remember just staring off.  It was finally over.  We were finally done.  And for a moment, I felt relief.

In the days that followed, we kept busy, as is the case with any family after someone passes.  We were too distracted to actually let the reality of the situation sink in.  I was numb.  In complete shock.  And to those around me, it’s likely that it seemed like I was fine… Even I thought I was fine.  But I wasn’t.  In the weeks that followed I found myself away from home, back at school, and falling apart.  It seemed that just as everything else went back to ‘business as usual,’ I started to crumble.  And no one around me understood.

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Just a couple weeks into the school year, on the morning of September 11, 2001, I was sitting in an anthropology class when my cell phone started ringing.  I quickly sent it to voicemail and continued taking notes.  After class, as I walked across campus, I listened to the voicemail that my mother had left me.  “A plane hit the World Trade Center in New York City.  There isn’t much other information yet, but you might want to turn on the news.”  I shrugged it off and continued walking to my apartment.  When I arrived, my roommates were already there, eyes glue to the television.  So I too sat and watched.  With the rest of the world, I sat and watched as the World Trade Center was swallowed by smoke.  I cried with everyone else, as I witnessed innocent victims choose death by jumping over death by fire.  And I watched in complete terror and disbelief as the towers came crumbling down.  What the fuck just happened??

I cried, just like everyone else did.  And I was terrified, just like everyone else was.  But deep inside of me, there was this feeling that I couldn’t really ignore.  A terrible feeling that I wished would go away.  But it wouldn’t… And I’m ashamed to admit it.  I’m ashamed that in the wake of the attacks on 9/11 I felt, somehow… slighted.  Like my father’s death had somehow been invalidated.  Like my sorrow was no longer legitimate.  In the face of a national tragedy, all of a sudden, my loss felt insignificant.  I was already hiding inside myself… Struggling with how to handle my sorrow.  But after the tragedy on 9/11, I sunk even deeper.  I wrapped myself in darkness and just sat with myself.  Alone.  Sad.  And completely misunderstood.

No one around me could reach me.  No one could help lift me up.  And as time wore on, I just kept sinking deeper, resulting in relationships and friendships disintegrating.  Decisions were made at the hands of others, that left me feeling abandoned, betrayed, worthless, and unloved.  I was completely alone, completely lost, and in utter despair.  I reached my lowest low.  A place where I’d sit… All alone… And wonder… “Would anyone even notice if I was no longer here?  Would anyone even care?”  Then I’d cry.  All the time.  I’d cry.  Alone.

But my family and a couple close friends recognized my hurt and came to my rescue.  And in time, I noticed things shifting inside me.  I noticed that the losses I endured led to some amazing gains.  It led to a strength I didn’t know I had.  It created a new me.  A better me.  A stronger, more independent, empathetic and loving version of me.  And over the years, I have come to realize that the circumstances that revolved around my father’s death were actually amazing gifts.  But even as such, every year, in the window between the anniversary of my father’s death and 9/11, I find myself feeling low.  I find old emotions bubbling up.  And every year, I push them back down.  Until this year.  This year I have resolved my heart to finally heal.  I’ve allowed myself to actually mourn all that I lost back in 2001.  And it seems a huge weight is being lifted off of me.

I am amazing.  I am worthy.  And I am loved… Most importantly by me.

This is my truth.  And I hope it helps you to seek yours.  Because I promise you…   If you do, you will find… The best is yet to come.




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Man In The Mirror

By August 25, 2017 Uncategorized

Question.  Who’s your worst enemy?  Is there someone that you can think of that treats you really poorly?  Someone that consistently makes you feel less than worthy?  A person who you really just don’t value all that much?… If you’re like most people, you probably aren’t sure.  I mean, most normal human beings don’t have enemies, right?  At least, not really… Except one.  You know who it is?…  Not sure?  Let me give you a hint.  Stand up, go walk to the nearest mirror, and look into it.  See who’s looking back at you?  That person is your worst enemy.


Don’t agree?  That’s fine.  I truly hope you’re right… But I doubt it.  Think about it.  I mean, really think about it.  Is there anyone more critical of you, than you?  Is there anyone who speaks down about or in front of you, as much as you do?  I bet you can’t think of one person.  How sad is that?  You are your own worst enemy.

Example:  So, as many of you probably already know, I’m a children’s yoga instructor… And I love what I do.  I really do.  It gives me a place where I can be playful, and creative, and… well… free.  I can dance around with ribbons to a song that makes my heart sing, surrounded by adorable children who are non-judgmental, and who seem to really like me and enjoy my class.  I get to talk to kids about the importance of kindness and acceptance…  Not only toward others, but more importantly toward themselves.  And I have the really amazing opportunity to make a positive impact on their lives… And I actually think I do.  But for whatever reason, I still lack confidence.

The other day, as I finished up a parent and me class for toddlers, a mother of a two year old little boy came up to chat with me.  She thanked me for the class and said she and her son had so much fun.  I smiled at her and told her I was so happy that they enjoyed themselves, and that I hoped I would get to see them again the following week.  (Note: My classes are all drop-in, so I never know who will come or how many… One of my biggest challenges.)  She assured me she would be back, but inside I found that I was feeling less than optimistic.  Not surprisingly, my toddler classes are the most challenging.  And attendance has always been inconsistent, which has felt discouraging.  But when I have the “right” group, it’s sometimes magical.  I get to watch parents dote over their little ones, and see their happiness when their child is enjoying my class.  And I get to share with them my acceptance and understanding of the joys and challenges of being a mama (or daddy!).  And have the opportunity to show them that I love their kids, which I’m certain shows.

Anyway, so this little boy’s mother continued her conversation with me, and mentioned that she joined the (expensive!) athletic club specifically so that she could come to my class with her son.  Say whaaaaaat??!  A friend of hers is a regular in my parent and me class, and had told her how much she enjoys bringing her one year old.  She told this mother that her daughter gets excited when they pull into the parking lot because she recognizes where they are, and that she’s going to get to see Miss Becky.  I mean, is a bigger compliment even possible?  I was so flattered.  But rather than accepting her kind words, and owning my talent, instead I talked myself down.  “Really???!  Wow… I’m shocked!  So-and-so’s mom said that?  I actually thought last week’s class didn’t go so well.  Sometimes with the little ones it’s really hard.”

Seriously, Becky?!  Ugh!!  Just accept the compliment.  OWN IT.  I’m fucking amazing and I should know it.  But instead I stood there, dumbfounded that it could possibly be true…  Someone joined the club?  For ME???  Wow.  Even just now.  Wow.  Toot that horn!  Right?!  Fuckin’ blow that whistle.  Shit… I should be charging an arm and a leg to run private classes.  Am I right?!  But I still sit here, inside myself, lacking the confidence I need to really go after it.  And honestly, I shouldn’t.  I have proven to both myself and others that I am talented.  And I should be proud of that… But pride is hard, isn’t it?  We’ve all gotten really good at selling ourselves short.  We’ve been trained to think we don’t deserve what we desire, or that we just aren’t good enough.  But that’s simply untrue.

Every single one of us has something to offer.  Every. Single. Person.  Everyone.  And the time for us to realize that is now.  My story seems a silly one to make this point, but actually it is the perfect example.  It’s the day to day negativity that each of us carry around that bogs us all down.  And it’s time to rise up.  You know, I have this really deep belief… No… Rather, I have a deep understanding that real change happens from the inside out, and it starts within each of us.  The small changes that we can all make in order to better ourselves, automatically helps to raise up the collective.  And in a world that’s filled with so much fear, hate, and intolerance, loving ourselves has never been more important.  The change starts with you.  In you.  Then shines out from there.

You’re amazing.  And so am I.  Don’t forget that.  And remind yourself each and everyday.  Then make the necessary changes within you, and watch as it transforms the world around you.

Man in the Mirror ~ Michael Jackson



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I Put My Armor On, Show You How Strong I Am.

By July 28, 2017 Uncategorized

I think I’ve been lying to myself a little bit.  Actually, a lot.  I’ve spent years working on quieting my mind.  Years.  I’ve put in the work.  And I’ve seen the beneficial results.  You see, my mind used to be really unkind to me.  These days she’s much nicer, but somewhat unrealistic.  I’ve become quite the daydreamer.  But sometimes I still find myself really sad.  And not because my mind is telling me things.  Rather, it’s my heart that’s feeling things.

I’ve told myself, and you, that if we could all just listen to our hearts that life would be better.  And I truly believed that to be true.  I still do.  I have a deep belief that our hearts are quite intuitive, and really can help guide us along this path called life.  But recently I’ve come to the realization that, just like my mind, my heart has been lying to me too.  *Big sigh*

You see, my mind used to tell me I’m not good enough.  She’d say all sorts of mean things about me.  But I didn’t really think my heart agreed.  Until my mind decided to be quiet…  Now I can feel into my heart and have found a harsh truth… In a lot of cases, on some level, my heart actually agrees with my head.  Finding that truth has been heart breaking.  Because thinking something and feeling something are two totally different things.  Right?  For me, my negative thoughts would circulate up in my head.  Round and round they went.  Just swirling around.  Repeating themselves, over and over.  But when I feel something… Well, that happens everywhere.  My eyes fill with tears.  My throat grows a lump.  My heart beats faster.  And my gut finds itself in a knot.  You too, right?

So now what?  I mean, I’ve literally spent countless hours trying to get my mind to be nicer to me, and in the process have realized that my heart isn’t being very nice either.  I used to tell myself that I’m not worthy.  Now I feel unworthy.  I used to tell myself I’m not lovable.  Now I feel unlovable.  I used to tell myself that I’m not smart enough.  Pretty enough.  Brave enough. Confident enough…   Now I feel all those things.  And it’s so much worse.  All of life’s hurts take a serious toll on our hearts.  Every time we experience heart ache, it leaves a mark.  And all of us are left with countless scars and open wounds…  And healing them isn’t easy.

You know, today I put a wound on Ceci’s heart.  I saw it in her eyes.  She yelled to me from the dining room, where she was crouched on the floor painting a picture.  I was in the kitchen cooking dinner when she called for me in rapid succession…  “Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom.”  In my head, once was probably enough.  Right?  I was literally ten feet away.  And my ears work quite well.  “What?!” I replied in obvious irritation.  Then I glanced over at her.  Her eyes looked sad.  “Never mind.  I’ll show you later.”  It was a rainbow she had painted for me.  And now I’m sitting here crying as I write this, because I hurt her when all she wanted to do was show me her creation.

That moment.  That hurt that I inflicted on my little girl…  It will sit with her.  She’ll forget, I’m sure.  But her heart won’t.  And over the course of her life, she will experience countless hurts, both big and small, and her heart will remember every last one of them.  Her conscious mind will push most of them away, so as to protect her.  But her heart will hold on tight to every single hurt.  Just like mine does…  And yours.


The human heart amazes me.  It keeps us alive by beating.  And it helps guide us toward the lives our souls had intended for us.  And it does those things without so much as being asked or thanked.  But it also protects us…  It protects us from getting hurt, by making us feel things that aren’t true.  Just like our minds do.  Right?  It’s easier for your heart to make you feel unworthy, than to have someone else make you feel that way.  It hurts a bit less if you stop yourself from pursuing that which you desire, than to have tried and have your heart broken.  And when you’ve had a lifetime of hurts, your heart will start to believe what others have made you feel.  One can only endure so much hurt before both their mind and heart tell them it’s true… Not because it is, but because you’re safer if they lie to you.

In life we all experience and inflict heart aches everyday.  It’s just part of being human.  It’s unavoidable.  Things as small as not looking up from your phone when someone is talking to you leaves a mark.  Not making eye contact.  Not saying ‘please’ or ‘thank you,’ ‘hello’ or ‘goodbye.’  Not smiling or showing gratitude.  We’re all guilty.  And we’re all victims.  And over the course of our lives, the hurts just accumulate.  Causing our hearts to wear a metaphorical armor.  And as a result, we’re all walking around with our guards up.  Not letting old hurts go.  And also not letting love in.

Heartbreaks that happened ten years ago.  Or twenty years ago.  Even thirty years ago…. Are all still sitting inside my heart.  Unless I resolve to heal them.  But healing is hard, because as the energy of those emotions leave me, I feel them.  We all do…  It’s as if you’re re-experiencing life’s lowest moments.  And it ain’t pretty.  But releasing those emotions frees us from them.  Right?  So I suppose my heart is actually doing me a favor.  It’s purging all that no longer belongs there.  It’s getting everything out that has kept me from being the best version of myself.  Releasing that which has prevented me from loving myself… And others.  You know, I’ve decided I don’t want my heart armored anymore.  I’m not interested in hiding.  Or feeling things that aren’t true.  So I’m allowing it all to come up and out.  Even if right now it doesn’t feel so good.  Because the Becky that resides within… She’s fucking amazing.  And my heart, once healed, is totally going to prove that to me.

I got this.  I’m unstoppable.




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Who’s Bad?

By June 29, 2017 Uncategorized

What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?  Like, how bad are you?  I’d be willing to bet you’ve got a moderate amount of badness in you…  I know I do.   Especially if swearing counts for something.  If swearing makes me bad, I’m totally fucked.  But when it comes to behaving badly, I’d say I’m doing pretty well.  But that wasn’t always the case.

When I was a freshman in high school I was still really innocent.  I didn’t really go out on dates or attract the interest of any guys… I was what you would call a ‘late bloomer.’  Both literally and figuratively.  I was probably about 75 pounds, soaking wet, and had never even kissed a boy.  You could say I was ‘under developed,’ if you know what I mean.  *Big sigh*  I really wanted to have boobs.  Like, bad.  Facepalm.  I can’t believe I just admitted that.  Thing is, everyone else had them!  Not me though.  Nope.  Flat as a board.  No bra needed… Except… Not wearing a bra in high school is simply unacceptable.  Or at least that’s how I felt back then.  These days I’ve got no problem letting those puppies fly.  Ha!  But back then, wearing a bra was of the utmost importance.

I mean, I did have a couple training bras, but nothing that clipped in the back or made me feel… I don’t know… Grown up.  But I had another problem.  Along with having no boobs, I also had no money.  I worked at Star Market as a bagger making minimum wage, which back then was a whopping $3.65/hour.  Can you fucking imagine?  Yeah.  You could say I was pretty broke.  And flat.  I was flat broke.  Haha!  See what I did there?  I got jokes.  Bad ones.  But jokes none the less.  Annnyway, moving on.  So yeah, I wanted bras that I couldn’t afford.


I bet you know exactly where this is going…

So there was this day when I went to the mall with some friends.  Remember when it was cool to just walk around the mall?  We’d try on clothes, not buy any of them, and grab a slice of pizza at the food court.  If we were lucky, maybe we’d get to check out some guys close to our age, not talk to them, and call it a day.  Right?  But this day was different.  We went to a department store and got a whole bunch of bras to try on.  I tried on some stuff that I knew I couldn’t afford, but would really love to have.  Two of them fit really well, were cute, and actually made me look like I had some sort of semblance of a chest.  With a little coaxing from a friend, I mustered up the badness to keep them on under my shirt and walk out of the store.

To this day, I still can’t believe I did that.  It was pretty out of character for me.  But you know what?  I actually kind of liked it.  I didn’t get caught, I kept the bras, and thoroughly enjoyed wearing them.  Winning!  But then my mom noticed them in my laundry.  She asked where they came from, but me being as fucking smart as I am, quickly came up with a lie.  “A friend gave them to me because they didn’t fit anymore.”  My mother didn’t look convinced, but accepted my story as truth.  But then she said something that has always stuck with me.  She looked at me and said, “You know, Becky, if I ever found out that you were stealing, I would be really disappointed in you.”  I nodded, and that was the end of it.

About a year later, I found myself in a CVS.  I was holding an eyeliner in my pocket, and was contemplating stealing it.  As I slowly approached the door to leave the store, my mother’s words echoed in my ears.  God dammit!… I walked back to the makeup aisle and put the eyeliner back.  Since that day, I haven’t taken anything without paying for it.  Thanks a lot, Mom… Do you know how much awesome stuff I could have?  Ha!  I suppose the good in me won that battle.


I still have moments where the bad in me rears its ugly head though.  I do the wrong things.  I say things I shouldn’t.  I think things I wish I wouldn’t.  I behave in ways that I wish I didn’t.  Right?  From time to time I’ll talk shit.  Or judge someone when I know I shouldn’t.  Or get overly upset about things that shouldn’t really bother me.  I think we all do that.  Do you notice that you do that too?  Because I’m pretty sure that’s the important part.  Noticing.  I can’t tell you how often I’ll say, do, or think something, and for hours on end, I can’t stop thinking about how I wish I could take it back.  How I wish I could just be completely accepting and tolerant and kind.  But I’m not.  Just like everyone else, I am both good and bad.

But I’ve come to some conclusions about being ‘bad.’  I’ve actually decided that it isn’t so bad after all.  Because doing things we shouldn’t teaches us valuable lessons.  It elicits feelings inside of us that we don’t like.  It shows us the part of ourselves that allows growth to occur.  And without bad there couldn’t be good.  Right?  I mean, life would be really fucking boring if none of us ever fucked up.  We wouldn’t learn anything.  We wouldn’t change or grow.

So I say, go on with your bad self!  I dare you to try to love the badness in you…  Because you know what?  If you do, I bet you’ll find yourself more easily accepting and less judgmental of the badness in others.  And as you find yourself becoming more tolerant  and accepting of others, the good in you will grow, miraculously causing your ‘badness’ to effortlessly fade away.  Know what I mean?  So be bad.  And love yourself, not despite it, but because of it.

Who’s bad?

Michael Jackson~Bad




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I’m Waking Up.

By June 19, 2017 Uncategorized

Guys, I kind of can’t deal with social media these days.  Have you noticed everyone is #woke?  What’s up with that?  Like, ev-er-y-one is totally #woke.  Am I right?  They share the latest headline about something fucking terrible, then add the hashtag… #WOKE.

Okay, I actually don’t hate it.  I kinda dig it.  I’m glad y’all think you’re ‘woke.’  However, I beg to differ.  You ain’t woke.  Oh don’t you worry.  I ain’t woke either.  But I’m ‘woker’ than most.  Haha!  But you guys are a little exhausting.  You remind me of me…. like five years ago.  I looked a lot like this:


Ha!  I kid… Sort of.  For real though.  Everyone is all in a huff about how sucky our world is.  Especially here in the great United States of America.  Shit’s fucking turbulent over here!  You literally can’t avoid finding out the next thing that is going to end it all unless you completely avoid all media.  I wish I was kidding.

I get it.  I’m with y’all… Shit’s hard right now!  But we certainly are not #woke.  So what, you ask, is woke?  Woke is the holy dude that parted the sea… Who did that?  No seriously.  Who?  I was raised Catholic, but I actually have no clue.  Woke is Buddha.  Woke is Jesus.  I’d also probably argue woke is folks like John Lennon and Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.  They were #woke.  We are not.  So what are we?

Well… we’re waking up.  We’re becoming #woke.  But we’re not there yet.  Isn’t it fun!  (Note sarcasm)  Brutal.  Guys, here’s the thing.  All of us are going through this.  At different times and rates.  But we’re all going through this together.  If you’re reading this and you’re all like, ‘What the fuck is this crazy bitch talking about?’, you’re one of the few people left with their head still in the sand.  Don’t worry.  You’ll join the crazy soon.

Anyway, what’s my point?  Ahhhh!  I hate when this happens.  I always have a point, but sometimes I forget.  It’s definitely the wine’s fault.  I just poured my third glass… Sloooow down, Becky.


Okay, so my point…  So, remember the nuclear meltdown at Fukushima? When that happened, I literally lost my mind.  For me, it was definitely the thing that was going to end all things.  I mean, I guess it still could, but I choose not to think about it.  Anyway, you can fill in the blank.  What’s your Fukushima?  What is it that you fear?  What is it that makes you angry?  What’s your catalyst?  What made you… #WOKE?  Whatever it is, instead of fearing it, thank it.  I know.  I’m crazy.  But hear me out.

Without that catalyst, you’d still be one of those folks you’re screaming at on social media to wake the fuck up.  Right?  Without that fear… Without that anger…  You’d still be in a slumber.  Walking through life completely unaware of all the terrible shit that’s happening.  For a second that actually sounds kind of nice doesn’t it?  To be blissfully unaware… But once you start waking up, you can’t go back to sleep.  There’s no going back.  So now what?

I mean, I guess you just keep going.  Keep doing what you’re doing.  But if you’re anything like me, holding onto that anger and fear will eventually get too exhausting.  Spewing hate and intolerance towards those who oppose your point of view will continue to fall on deaf ears.  Right?  I mean, never in the history of arguments on social media has anyone ever changed anyone’s mind.  Ever.  Reading a thread of comments on a controversial article is like repeatedly smashing your head against a wall.  Everyone walks away pissed off, and nothing changes.  Seriously, what’s the point?

I know being informed is important.  It’s entirely necessary for change to occur.  I get that.  But the fear and hate that seems to go along with the sharing of information is tiring.  So I say folks should maybe consider just living their lives with purpose.  Be the change you want to see… Right?  Fuck all the noise.  Just live.

Break free from the system.  Unchain yourself.  Turn off the news.  Take a break from social media.  And live.  Take a few minutes each day to sit inside your heart…  Take a walk.  Or a nap.  Hug your kids.  Drive fast with your windows down and the volume up.  Dance in your kitchen.  Exercise.  Meditate.  Read a book for pleasure.  Close your eyes and feel the light that resides within you.  Love fiercely.  And know that that feeling… When you’re in this moment.  That is when you’re #WOKE.

Welcome to the new age.

Imagine Dragons feat. Kendrick Lamar~Radioactive



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