I am torn between acceptance
and a continuation of denial.
As one part of me grows more certain,
the other shies away,
inventing complicated excuses
as if it expects that to help.
The more I think, the more I wonder
if perhaps I should have expected
to end up in a place like this.
Perhaps I was preparing all along.
My outspokenness was always
to support the future me.
Strange. For one so passionate,
I feel so very guilty.
I am accepting of others,
yet hate this in myself.
Is that ironic? Or simply sad?