It is about being naked with ourselves. Period. Done. Finito. End of story.
Here and only here, in the utters depths & pits of our raw awkwardness is where we find all the juicy tools and resources we need. It might hurt. It might be joyous. It might be horrifying. It might be ecstatic. But it is real. And that is what matters, my dear. We need more real, do we not? <3
Is terribly disappointing sometimes.
Shouldn’t I be louder, wilder, more impressive?
I wish to,
I used to don a mask of all these things.
I tried to sparkle in so many ways that were not true.
But they all burned to the ground in the fury of truth and the harsh fires of reality.
All I have now
Is the nakedness of my heart
And my truth
And these tears in my eyes
And these poems spawned in the palms of my hand.
I have nothing false to hold, to cling desperately onto.
Is hard and sad and terribly disappointing sometimes.
It’s joyous, too.
I drip out in the most mundane moments—
I am tender and passionate fire.
I am wild in my vulnerability.
I am soft as the breeze swaying through the ancient trees.
I am human,
Just like you.
Is that not impressive?
I am alive.
We are alive.
There is no more to become.
There is now
And to sit and soak that in
I thirsted for it, for this gaping authenticity for centuries
It may not be good enough or shiny enough or pretty enough
But my soul knows not what that any of that means
Being my Self.
Is all I need.
Impressive or not.
No need to coat it in a shiny headline.
I no longer care to wonder about it.
I shall not question it.
I shall not shame it away.
Here is my heart,
Here is this raw, unvarnished, soul-smudged truth
You can stomp on it, look at in disgust and spit on it
But I will still be proudly
Draped in it,
With a smile stamped on my face—
Will only deepen.
It can never be taken from me.
Photo: Author's Own.