I love those moments when my mask comes tumbling down and I know I can never wear it again.
It crumbles, disintegrates and breaks apart like pathetic bits of shredded newspaper rendered sopping wet by a sudden afternoon rain.
I love those moments more than anything.
Because I see that I never needed to hide.
I never needed to hide at all.
Because what’s underneath my bullshit sequin mask of pretending I'm confident and have all the answers is only truth and love and shaky lines of roughly sewn together poetry.
I’ve been hiding for awhile behind a mask of wildness.
A wild woman. An Aquarius. A winged free spirit.
I don’t know what any of that even means. They're just words that sound hollow as they thud in my eardrums, like things I thought I was supposed to be.
They're just pretty words that I've used to cover up the softest places in my heart.
So I’m scrapping it. All of it. I’m plucking off all those turquoise-encrusted peacock feathers in the form of labels and I’m taking a look at my raw, naked skin.
It’s blemished, tear-stained, not flawless, camera-ready or perfectly smooth.
But it’s real.
And real is all I need.
And from this moment forward, real is what I shall live for.
Real, even when it's shaky, tender and not very pretty to look at it.
Because looked at with a brave heart, it's fucking beautiful.
© Sarah Harvey