Who would I be without my incessant need for external
validation?
Who would I be without my duplicity?
Without my evil temper?
My need to be right?
Who would I be?
If I was just me?
If I cared about something, what would that be?
What would the world around me look like, if I didn’t carry
around that inner critic?
How would each little thing appear, if I didn’t judge it,
reject it, despise it?
What if I just waited for a moment,
Paused,
Before reacting?
How would the song of my life sound then?
What would it look like if I laid all my feelings out on the
table,
Picked them up one by one, polished them like silverware,
And then put them all back,
In their proper places?
What would be left?
Would I?
Still?
Be?
Me