TruthBunny

a little insight can be dangerous

a lonely truth(bunny)

i seek companionship (in haste) to avoid loneliness
only to find a deeper solitude … in isolation

too ashamed to admit a decision made from fear
too naive to recognize a commitment without a bond
too fearful to believe the separation is only temporary
too numb to notice that option just slipped away.

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Dressing the Part (truthbunny is born)

I used to believe if I donned a tutu, then I was a ballerina.  It doesn’t matter if I hadn’t danced outside my own bedroom or my family den, I was performing Swan Lake like a pro because my pink leotard, tights and slippers were a perfect fit.  Fast forward a couple of years (more precisely a couple of decades), I have outgrown the leotard and the fantasy that just wearing the tutu somehow makes me a skillful dancer.
I don’t know when my fantasies became less important than fitting in, but I do know that my concern to ‘fit in’ became all consuming.  I miss my childhood, but even more so I miss the freedom that came along with it.  The freedom to be myself, without apologies or explanations.  You do what you want, when you want, and if it offended anyone, the excuse provided by your parents could always be “she doesn’t know any better, she’s just a kid”.
Now, I have heard the argument that some still choose to do what they want when they want, but those people never admit to the imaginary barriers that confine their hypothetical free will.  With age comes responsibility, with responsibility comes restrictions.  At some point, I felt the looming pressure – from peers, school, society and professional superiors.  I was advised by this same grouping to learn to ‘adapt’ – a euphemism they so eagerly embraced.
As a result of both outside influence and self-imposed limitations, my creativity took an inward turn.  My spirit slowly confined itself to the “acceptable” level and I crafted the proper persona to carry me into adulthood.  Keeping my untamed tendencies at bay, I believed would ensure personal and professional success.
It did, so why was I so unhappy?
The more I refined this persona, the more dejected I became.  I actually believed in my own fabrication and the thought didn’t even occur to me that my sadness was triggered by the mask I created.  I needed an outlet or an opportunity to be myself but couldn’t see past the fact that I was the one who created this mess in the first place.  I tried changing jobs, men and wardrobes on a regular basis… as you would expect, each adjustment created even more chaos within.  Regardless of the increasing inner mayhem, I managed to maintain poise and an air of self-confidence.  What a show – I had them all fooled,  I?
One night, out of complete and utter desperation, I found myself in front of  my laptop crying and banging away at the keyboard without realizing what I was actually typing.  I couldn’t see the words through my tears.  Although I didn’t look at the clock, I suspect that to maintain the frantic pace my fingers kept while furiously tapping out each keystroke, such passion can only be found in the wee hours of the night.  I cleared away my tears and managed to sift through my words and, at that moment, I realized I wrote a poem.  To be more precise, I rambled on and on for pages and somewhere in the middle of the untidy heap of words that had, just moments before, crowded my brain I wrote what resembled a poem.
A masterpiece it was not, but I can tell you that when I closed my laptop and laid back down in my bed, I slept better than I had in a very long time.  I awoke the next morning (technically only a few hours later) with a overwhelming feeling of contentment and relief.
Strangely enough, I didn’t assign this satisfaction to my maniacal episode only hours earlier.  I assumed that I needed a good cry and I finally had one. My tears brought me the cathartic release that was long overdue.  That may have been true, but when I opened my laptop again, I was genuinely surprised to find that what I thought was an odd dream – unloading the overflow of my pent up emotions into the word processor on my computer – was actually a reality.  I began to read what I wrote and almost felt as if someone else had hijacked my brain to allow these thoughts to see the light of day.  It was a mess, but it was fantastic!
I started doing this almost every night, except instead of typing away on my laptop, a smart phone application became my keyboard and a new form of technology became the catalyst for self-expression.  On this tiny device, I clumsily type my notes, thoughts and frustrations with both thumbs as fast as they could move.  I realized that as long as I did this, it didn’t matter what persona I projected to the world during the day.  The perfectly appropriate woman by day could be the wild child at night – through poems, stories and outrageous ramblings.
I made peace with myself and with the persona I created.  I learned to dress the part for everyone else on the surface and let my writing ‘dress the part’ for my soul.
Photo by Joseph H. Davis

Photo by Joseph H. Davis

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If

Sunrise in Dallas

Photo by Joseph H. Davis

…I trusted my instincts
…I accepted the challenge
…I saw what others saw in me
…I didn’t say “I do”
…I said yes to a baby
…I said no to seduction
…I didn’t break his heart
…I voiced my true fears
…I found confidence earlier
…I abandoned false hopes
…I avoided the ego boost
…I accepted the promotion
…I rejected the ridicule
…I said I love you once more
…I wasn’t so emotional
…I said yes to a second date
…I cried less, laughed more
…I hugged my sister more
…I was a better friend
…I walked my dog more often
…I took more pictures
…I was more practical
…I was less passionate

…I find some clarity
…I can accept failure
…I take my own advice
…I let them go
…I hold on too long
…I take the wrong risk
…I learn patience
…I make new memories
…I dance when asked
…I sleep as much as I dream

Live with your choices
Remember that all of them started with …
If.

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