I cant sing. I swear alot. Sometimes I don’t brush my hair. I’m over weight and I’m far too serious. But I also love to sing into a hairbrush, dance like a dick, laugh too much at inappropriate times, stay up far too late reading guidance cards for my gfs and smiles at strangers.
I am me. I yell, I motherse. I drink cacao, I drink bourbon. I’ve been in love, I’ve had my heart broken. I cry and I laugh. Embracing my light and dark, accepting my happy and unhappy, learning to roll with the punches is about trusting that I am a soul having a human experience. Love of the self is the ultimate goal. I will never claim to be perfect or ‘healed’. I claim to be all of me, living out loud and giving no fucks about fitting in and projecting a certain image. I am perfectly imperfect.
How much are you being you, and how much are you being what everyone else has told you to be?