It’s Just Me.

Here I am.

It’s just me again, writing out my thoughts to whoever decides to look.

As my kids used to say, “I’m feeling some type of way.”

Such a vague statement, yet it somehow packs a punch.

I’m feeling some type of way, yo.

I’m upset; my spirit is in need of a hot bath and a full night’s sleep.

I just want to be me.

. . .

While I have a curious mind, I’m truly a simple person, with a simple and happy little life.

I read. I watch movies and TV shows. I coo over my cats and try my hand at arts and crafts.

I enjoy food, wine, and beer.

I love seeing my family.

I love seeing my friends.

And that’s the long and short of it, friend.

. . .

Why do we assign so much to ourselves, and to those we love?

Why do we worry over nothing?

. . .

I need to accept myself, for who I really am.

I’m a thinker.

I’m a risk-taker.

I’m an artist who isn’t afraid of the showing unpopular truths.

I will use my language without shame.

I will dare to be the unsilent majority.

Because I refuse to be another mindless cog in the wheel of history.

. . .

Truly, what chance did you ever take?

Tell me.

I want to know.

. . .

I may be viewed as a rebel, a problem intellectual, a spreader of doubt.

But I’m simply daring to ask questions.

I’m daring to verbalize my insecurities, because I’m not afraid to be unsure.

I do not have all of the answers, and neither do you.

Neither do you.

. . .

So I will move on from this.

I will grieve for what is lost and embrace the reality of what’s ahead.

. . .

“I guess I just miss my friend.”


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