I have difficulty as an emerging Writer. A Writer is and becomes a public a figure. I’m exposing myself tremendously, I do get a thrill from theories and philosophies, but there’s nothing quite like… creative honesty. As a Writer, I’m forever in and out at the same time, I’m not from there or here. I’m where I am. Think about it. I have my perspective, yours, others, and the surroundings, then what I know, learn, hear, and discover. There’s noise in this world and the next. My 6 layers are exposed. In this blog, I’ve truly sacrificed myself. I’ve shown you a real individual. Refreshing. However, authenticity has a pricey cost. I step out of my comfort zone for self-liberation, and to show the other’s another perspective. Here I am. Here She is.

Whether it stems from love or spite, I’m mocked for wearing my sunglasses indoors. I wear them in class, the grocery store, restaurants. I wear them everywhere because I’m exposed. I’ve made a performance out of my personal emotions, and though you’re entertained reading it. The writer lives and copes with their circumstances, but also with a vulnerable identity. I live sexism, racism, oppression, heartbreak, and then push for success in this male dominated world. I’ve given World and you so much… then, I have to wonder whom to trust. So many snakes in the sunny grass, I wear my sunglasses to spot one, to spot some. I’m so exposed, Can you imagine spilling your emotions and secrets, and then face the world and other’s too? Vulnerability. I’m exposed, and real. How about you? What would you do when the person you speak to knows more of you than you? You’d probably cry, and then put on your sunglasses too. I wear my sunglasses to hide laughter, shame, joy, and pain; writing is entertainment, our muse. My 6 layers are exposed. I haven’t told the half from my view. I wear my sunglasses, unless I trust you.



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