What would it take… for you to tell your whole story…your whole truth, to yourself. The dented packages of stifled wholesomeness, buried deep somewhere in an intricate valley of multiple other truths. What do you tell yourself every day?
“You are such a beautiful creature wrapped in God’s love”
Or is it
“Beautiful mahogany, you look like a Queen”
What do you tell yourself every day?
“You stupid bitch, how could you do that? That is so stupid. You’re a worthless piece of trash!”
Or is it
“Yep, that’s it, there you again. Of course you couldn’t do any better”
The truth is complicated you see. Our individual truths are supposed to be wrapped up and entwined into a network of Nano-atoms, universal dots of wonder, birthing human enlightenment.
The truth we tell ourselves is a mirror of what we think other people’s truths are of us. Which might be true sometimes, but not always. When we create a facade, a mask that hides the actual self, isn’t that a sacrilege to our personal truths then? Or is it that sometimes our truths are so beautiful, colossal emerald creatures, that we shut them in a cage, lock them up bitterly because their beauty is not (supposedly) something worthy of belonging to us.
So what truth do you tell yourself every day? The beautiful actuality, or the hideous facade?