Inside my body is filled with blood, bones and words.
I spend a significant amount of my time writing in my head. Emails I haven’t sent. Conversations I haven’t spoken. Posts I haven’t published. My mind is filled to the brim with words piling on top of one another. Words, letters, punctuations, and stories begging to tumble off my lips. Begging to spill onto the page. Self affirmations I say, pictures I paint of a person I want to be. I pretend to be.
I like to think that I am not a person who waits around for life to happen to her (after all I am quite impatient). I like to think that I abide by the tattoo on my back, a reminder to live. How much of that is wishful thinking and not action?
I’m tired of pretending to be the person I want to be. It’s time to start becoming.
I pretend to be strong, when I am really weak. But I won’t be weak anymore.
I pretend to be fearless, when I am really afraid. But I will no longer be afraid, I will be brave.
I pretend to be cheerful, when I am depressed. But I won’t let my past control my future.
I pretend to be whole, when I am empty. But I will no longer expect someone else to fulfill me.
I pretend to be secure, when I am insecure. But I will not let anyone else define me.
I am going to become the person I’ve always been pretending to be.
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