It Wasn't Me

I have a problem.

Many, truthfully.

But this one in particular is a virile steamroller.

I despise being misinterpreted.

Not only despise -- but it destructs my daily activities.

Atleast until I confront these misinterpretations --

Either with the one who has perceived these misconceptions

or with myself.

I want people to know me.

To truly know me.

And not only to know me,

But to distinguish me.

In spite of this, I canopy myself and prance around in a masquerade.

I put on the veil of humor, crudeness or simple avoidance.

I am tremulous and hesitant to share myself.

I have this fear that someone will point out some inconsistency or flow in my being.

Possibly, I am more fearful to come to the conclusion that I'm not who I think I am.

Perhaps I'm merely a walking billboard of idealogies.

With no depth.

I think I am being challenged to discover me -- my thoughts, my ideas, my beliefs, my likes, my dislikes.

And it's quite enjoyable.

Truly being what I want to be.

Recommendations:

1. Gather fresh chicken eggs into a basket and make them for breakfast.

2. Go to Syria.