The ego of me.

I said I was determined, that I never give up. I said that was who I am. But is who I am what I do, a drive to sort out a mess or am I the child I tuck away from the chaotic stress? A need to fix not a person but the situation, to put right the wrongs, make all well as well as can be. Is not the person the coping mechanism or am I there, more in depth than she? How do we know who we are, the glance in the mirror telling us only what to see. A distortion in photo of what we want to be shows the world that really, as if not anything we are happy. I peel away the layers and under each I find another bruise, another cut so strip away some more in hope this time it’s enough, I shall find the centre as if the core holds the crux. A perfect being in nature we evolved, pure and touched, an extraordinary form to behold. Damaged layers encapsulated the babe where in should we seek find perhaps our soul? Am I my taste, the clothes I choose to wear when unconventionally adorned? Thrown off the shackles of subjective scorn, I bare the person I choose to be no matter who’s looking on. Strip away the covers, our past, the superficial displayers and what do we have? I imagine simplicity, light of heart and fearless when another we have in defence been crossed. A peaceful unassuming assurance, instinctively knowing where we find sustenance, where not to turn. Intune with our innate gut warnings and in readiness to feel when arrives love’s burn. Is it possible I wonder to live such an existence when surrounded by every resistance we are pitted against ourselves, in competition with fellow residents, our neighbours and cells?

To escape, it seems one must hide away, torn from the life we crave to share with all who just survive and view the freedom seeker taking another road as someone who must be denied. No reminders please of what for them a tease, a life fulfilled without need to please or urge to cover over all we need to heed. No paths of gold does he or she have a desire to stroll. The choice is ours, always is, will be. Do we lose ourselves in conformity or find that without the greed, the insatiable need we are instead met with more, we grow as tree grown from seed? People will steal away, they also offer gift an individual determined to be. Not in never giving up but in giving in to what is, what will be shall I perhaps find the fix, the words I search to free. Determined now as never before to let go of what I’ve not been able but asked to ignore, no more hold on. That's a part of me I've chosen to not forgo but adapt instead from now on.