Authenticity is what we all search for, and rarely find. With every flaw, every wound chapters form to make sense of my incredible life. Words haven’t flowed smoothly lately. In fact, words are dry and hardened, and evacuation is difficult and infrequent. All the unwanted waste accumulates, rotting flesh that can’t rebuild.
In truth, I am vaguely using a combination of letters as a means to convey something more important. The beauty of scars is in telling your story. I am camouflaged in beauty hiding from the truth. I don’t have grandiose notions about my attractiveness, the phrasing speaks to my lived experience via interactions that I’ve had.
I hide, we all hide in efforts to avoid rejection. I cover my scars. I guard my truth behind a notion of acceptance. My actions aren’t wrong, nor are they right. It’s just the process, the way I live my life.
In honor of truth, healing comes painfully, and I recognize that I am forever beautifully broken. And I’m unwilling to have it any other way. My vague way of getting you to understand that we all hide, we are flawed is riddled in between the lines of this page.
In my absence, my intentions are unwavering . . . Stay with me through this grieving process. The outcome can be nothing more than fruitful.