Extended Existential Escape

Who the fuck do I think I am?

I have all sorts of answers: writer, drawer, black dude, atheist, anime watcher, consumer of games, Netflix binger, etc. Those are easy and obvious.  

I’ve been quite interested in the writing world for some time now. Seeing writers craft stories that strike at my core… GOD! I want to do the same thing. I want people to have those emotions when they see my writing. Yet, when I go back and read my old stuff, there’s something missing: soul.

I’ve been holding back. I remain guarded. Even with my friends, I am a black box. Although I wear some emotions on my sleeve, it’s just a small glimpse. I let out a bit, but the levees are only cracked, ready to shut down at any moment. This could be attributed to my introversion, however. I’m sure that no one really bares their entire soul and entity for the world to see.

I’m not an open book. Some shit is coded and encrypted. Some of it gets deciphered and disclosed. It took me forever for me to tell others that I was atheist because of a bad experience when I was younger. Now? I can tell anyone I’m atheist without feeling that I would be abandoned.

Even now, as I’m typing this, I’m debating on what I should reveal and how I should I do it and who should I do it to. But those pieces of me are out there in my writing, ready to be put together.

 

Photo credit: Tim Marshall

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