I’M A PHOTOGRAPH

A Fictional Story

I’m a photograph, yes, a photograph bright,
A great photograph, captured just right.
I picture a cowboy or cowgirl in flight,
Competing in rodeos beneath the wide-open sky,
Where courage and skill send the dust clouds high.

I’m captured by photographers, talented and true,
Who work through the crowds for the perfect view.
They earn their street credentials before I appear,
Snatching me from the moment, with nothing to fear.
Their patience and passion bring my image to light,
Turning fleeting moments into memories bright.

I’m grateful to artists who take the time,
To frame my beauty and make every detail shine.
Their sacrifice and skill are the pride that I bear,
A tribute to rodeo, captured with care.
They give me the sparkle that makes me glow,
And the power to shine wherever I go.

But wait! How can others admire what they see
If no magazine gives me a place to be?
Must I remain hidden, tucked out of sight,
When I’m meant to be seen in the full morning light?
I don’t want to hide in a dark computer screen,
When I’m worthy of pages where I can be seen.
I want to stand tall, be admired, and be proud,
Not buried in pixels beneath a digital cloud.

But how? There’s a way, or so I’ve been told,
A magazine’s pages could let me unfold.
On the cover, within, I could finally appear,
For rodeo fans everywhere to draw near.
It celebrates cowboys and cowgirls who compete,
Their victories, struggles, and moments of heat.
Published often, it keeps the rodeo story alive,
With the latest news from the professional drive.
For devoted fans who follow each ride,
It brings the whole rodeo world to their side.

As I understand, there’s a new format today,
An improved-looking magazine, or so they say.
The old one kept stories and triumphs in view,
With contests and champions for readers to pursue.
But where was I now? Had I vanished from sight?
Where was the photograph that once shone so bright?

In the former edition, I had room to appear,
On the cover, inside, for all readers to cheer.
Sometimes a full page, sometimes two pages wide,
I was there in my glory, with nothing to hide.
The words brought the stories, the pictures brought life,
Capturing triumph, hard work, and strife.
I was worthy of print, of a place of my own,
Not reduced to a sliver, unnoticed, unknown.

But sadly, the new format has shrunk me in size,
Leaving me smaller before readers’ eyes.
Words now cover my surface, obscuring my view,
Hiding the details that once made me new.
That isn’t the purpose for which I was made;
I’m meant to be seen, not lost in the shade.

I must live and thrive; I must have room to breathe,
Not be buried beneath words layered over me.
I need space to tell stories through images alone,
To show every detail, every seed that was sown.
I must return to full pages, where I can shine,
Where the picture tells stories in its own right and time.

After all, I’m hardworking, as photographs go,
Capturing action wherever the cowboys ride low.
I’m unique in my way, with a story to share,
A moment preserved with precision and care.
So give me my space, let my true colors gleam,
Let me live on the page, not fade from the scene.

For I’m more than a picture, more than ink on a page,
I’m a moment of history preserved through the age.
I’m the dust, the determination, the courage, the fight,
The spirit of rodeo captured just right.
So let me be seen, let me shine, let me be—
A photograph worthy of the space given me.