My career. Where the most intimate, personal, and special moments between a man and his wife that can only be truly appreciated for the two it was made for is chewed up and spit out in the form of a new poem, or song, or tweet. And y'all eat it up. And my kids need to. My poor wife married a surveillance camera with anger problems. Don't judge me. You carry moment-killers in your pockets too. My career. Got me hating to take pictures and at the same time terrified for the day y'all won't want one. Exhausting and exhilarating. Beating the drum that my life is not my own, yet when y'all treat me like I belong to you, I long for the hotel room. This is not real life. Yet it's the one I'm living. Tour buses that drop me off at daycare. I'm just tryin' to get my daughter to flush the toilet when she's done. My career. Where total strangers know my secrets and have convos wit' me like we share a 12-step class. Where people believe Instagram comments and threats of unfollowing will make my pride a bitter side dish with dinner. I welcome your thoughts. I stand before you. In a strange twist of fate, I found my prayers need prayer. My tears, a good scrubbing. My repentance, need to do just that. My career.