Renegade

Renegade

How juvenile to talk this way!

Haven't I transitioned to focus on compassion for others?

Yes, and that is why I haven't written in so long. 

But I haven't changed spirit.

I feel like my need for self expression and vulnerability just oozes out like a pimple, and sometimes it builds up, and it's disgusting, and people just want to wipe it away, conceal and hope it heals itself. 

Why do I consider myself so auto toxic? Because of how my expression has often been treated; because of how it inherently may be critical or destructive to the status quo, without any intentional negativity, I am a renegade. 

I might even be normal, or kind, if it weren't for the pressure I put on myself. It is hard to be self aware when you have the magmic forces of a volcano beneath the surface. 

I carry so much baggage of the burdens of my defenses and desire for good intentions, layers of shame, multidimensionality and a certain acceptance that humility means hiding without being perceived as such. It's a double hiding game. This is how it feels to be bipolar, or gender neutral, or just painfully complex at work, or powerless and talented. 

I am a German shepherd, bred with wolves, eating shoes in an apartment in London. I need work; I need earth and a moon and the rain and sun on my back; rhythm to my step. But instead I have a closet, and someone's shoes.