Under Cover 


Sometimes I feel utterly exposed, as though I sit naked revealing parts of myself that are better left under cover. Although as I’ve gotten older these times have gotten fewer and seem to happen more when I am dreaming. Then things come to light that make me realize just how much is churning around in my psyche. Maybe that’s why my stomach feels full of a giant twisted rubber band lately. In the past everything just spewed forth so not much was left to stew inside like some over ripe batch of sourdough.

Now I’m often gripped with clutching need to stay hidden, camouflaged amidst my own natural habitat so no one can find me. There are moments of quiet anxiety of venturing forth, facing humanity and acting like one of them. Maybe I can stay hidden and pretend I’m not.

Either way, at some point I must go out. Stark naked or fully camouflaged, I eventually must take my fluttering heart to the streets. But what anyone sees will never be what is really before them, because I no longer know how to display my true plumage. So instead I will let them make their best guess at who I might be and continue to figure it out myself.

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