art

Identity

i wake up one morning and say, “shit. this is what i look like.”

i know something then. something about myself. perhaps i always have.

i know i’m not what i could be if i dared not to care what others thought of me.

i know that my fundamentals will remain stashed in my slacks for the rest of my days. i know i’m ashamed of them. that i’d be locked away for indecent exposure if ever i showed them.

sighing feels like too much effort.

i stop looking in the mirror for fear of losing myself.

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