Anxious

Words Words Words Words.

I speak with cautious words that masquerade as insincerity or wisdom.

I hold my breath for the response.

If I continue to due so, my face may turn blue.

Why, in all of my confidence, should I mind what other’s think?

“You shouldn’t care!”

I’ve never swallowed it as truth.

Of course I should care what others think.

The day I stop hearing the words of others, good or bad, that is the end of learning. The end of betterment. The beginning of narcissism.

Why can’t I love myself while hearing both good and bad?

I absolutely can.

But I also see

The Line.

What is it to be real? (Trash ramblings)

I’ll level with you. You out there that read my small thoughts.

I’m not sure what it is to be real anymore. I stare at my hands and they’re real. They’re thick and solid and I know the work that I can do with these tiny meat gloves.

(Ironically, my back makes popcorn sounds as I stretch–just now. A reminder of a time I pushed my body too far in Disney.)

But I..

feel like I’ve disappeared somehow. Into someplace I can’t quite name. I waver between indecision, not quite able to move. I try to regain who I was a year ago, but that person is lost, I think. Changing. Learning. I can’t go back. I don’t think I’d want to.

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