On being myself…

Sometimes, I wish I were a tortoise.

Or a horse.

Or a lizard.

To be human is to be cursed.

No other creature can make a mistake,
and turn it into a hundred.

How silly.

To put more into concealing my strangeness,
than displaying my coloured wings.

To work me up into a hot mess of nerves,
Because where I should be is not who I am.

So I hide what I deem others think ugly,
And force what I believe others would like.

That feeble, crooked smile,
Which only makes it worse.

I am not me. I am someone else.

I can relax when the door clicks behind me,
And no one is with me; only the dog.

My senses touch spirit again.

I know this can change. I know I can fly.

I’ve tasted it, like the cold air outside.
I’m close, but I’m not there yet.

All I need is to honour my self,
To remember who I am again.

By peeling the layers, one at a time,
Until the purity of truth is revealed.

Simple, and smooth,
Like a stone on the beach.

That is me. A man with no lies,
Just truth, and love, and nothing to hide.

—

I’d love to hear what you think. I appreciate all comments.

What makes you come alive?