Exposed

Self doubt is the worst
The exposure of buried secrets & ugly truths,
The truth always makes its appearance, although never invited.

Who are you to scrutinize my truth? To rationalize my pain? To begin writing the sequel without ever really reading the manuscript?

Maybe I watered it down,

For my sake, for my escape & maybe your comfort & acceptance.

All the while not understanding my truths, my narrative needs no explanation, only understanding for myself.

How does one ever make sense of a senseless world. How does one escape the tree in which fuels growth?

Escape the pain, the marks, the scars in which fueled the will to grow? But that fuels seems temporary, a crutch to walk with the joneses.

They always find the crutch don’t they?