Maybe the real fear is not about others figuring me out, it might be accepting myself first. Rather than being open about the desires, it might be embracing the desires within, what defines your soul. Is it love? I seldom question myself.
Is it pain? The hurtful notions of the past, present and anticipation of future, making myself question about what I’ve endured and what I may have to. Whether it was all worth it in the end, that when you look back, the path I have trod might have droplets of blood stains, washed by the rain of tears I’ve shed in the emptiness of a closed room, a cry that no one heard or pretended not to. I question my inability to be loud when I seek out but the voice gets lost in the wilderness of the thoughts, running hither and tither in my restless mind, a mind that I fear one day will unleash itself from the chains that I’ve securely tied it to. I fear that my mind may hurt the loved ones. Or are they my beloved? I have never really thought of it. Whether the love that I feel is real or fake? Because I’ve held me back when it comes to love. I question my loyalty to them but then I’ve done most of the things that they’ve desired for me, the things that they’ve felt is right.
I weigh my happiness with the choices I made and it always fall to the other side. My happiness is like a fallen feather then, sprung up and floating in the sky and I look from below, firm held on ground, extending my arms to catch it but it flies away. I wish my heart answers my queries, but then it is all my thoughts, the questions of my insane mind and I bundle them up in a sack and hide it where no one can see and put on the smiley face I’ve curated over the years.
Yes, I am smiling 🙂
Scribbles of a caffeinated psyche 