Masquerade.
My hands are tied.
Bound and gagged. These ropes that hold me down are tearing at my skin, ripping through the layers as the blisters erupt and weep away their sorrows. I feel beaten and helpless, entangled by my own fears and reservations. Does it ever help to afford such an enormous amount of respect to the possibility of failure?
I'm driving myself into the ground. A square peg drilled into a round hole. Each of the four corners are shorn off... so what do we lose? How much of myself do I lose in this struggle? Can I redefine myself later on? What happens when I'm 30 and all I have to tell me who I am is a wall of degrees and an infinite knowledge of human health?
And the worst part of all is that I don't think I'd be finding the answers to these questions if I were in any other position. Everyone I know seems to be passing these shoes from one person to the next. We try them on and they fit, but you're not happy with the colors... the style is all wrong... they've got velcro instead of laces...
And that's just another terrible analogy attempting to describe something none of us can really describe, not even to ourselves.
Truth feels like a rumor.
Bound and gagged. These ropes that hold me down are tearing at my skin, ripping through the layers as the blisters erupt and weep away their sorrows. I feel beaten and helpless, entangled by my own fears and reservations. Does it ever help to afford such an enormous amount of respect to the possibility of failure?
I'm driving myself into the ground. A square peg drilled into a round hole. Each of the four corners are shorn off... so what do we lose? How much of myself do I lose in this struggle? Can I redefine myself later on? What happens when I'm 30 and all I have to tell me who I am is a wall of degrees and an infinite knowledge of human health?
And the worst part of all is that I don't think I'd be finding the answers to these questions if I were in any other position. Everyone I know seems to be passing these shoes from one person to the next. We try them on and they fit, but you're not happy with the colors... the style is all wrong... they've got velcro instead of laces...
And that's just another terrible analogy attempting to describe something none of us can really describe, not even to ourselves.
Truth feels like a rumor.