“But when you rip open that shirt to find the ripped abs of truth – when you remember who you are – the question then becomes: Do you declare yourself?”
I ask myself this question often: Do I declare myself?
Being the self-conscious, justice-seeking, slightly psychotic individual I am, I constantly play with different aspects of my self. Whether it’s the political side, the philosophical side, or the bad poetry side, there are many facets to my personality. I think this is normal, but it’s difficult to find that one passion, that one part of my being, that is stronger and demands a declaration above all others.
What are my ripped abs, so to speak? What do I see, what do I feel, when I remember who I am?
Do I too, wear a facade? Do I put on a ‘front’ when I go out and about? And if so, who am when I get home to an empty house and a lovable mutt?
I suppose I am a sensitive, calm, critical, and slightly sad female.
Acting tough and intelligent can be exhausting some times.
I remember that I am a flawed, unfashionable, and fervent woman. I have fears and fallacy.
But this remembrance is more beautiful than my shell of ‘wonder woman’ outer projections. And I remember it, yes, yes, I do.
I remember my fears and passions, and god dammit I declare them.