My Own Kind

I used to love a girl by the sea,
Used to believe I was the sum of who I would be

Now I’m wiser and understand the differences:
Between boredom and loneliness,
Fear and worry,
Persona and personality

For, dear boy, I am changing
Coming to consciousness with all I was as a boy
In love
By the sea

It’s challenging to come to understand who I am, to see the difference between persona and personality, and to accept what is mine. 

I feel as if I have changed drastically as of late, but it’s only been the coming – or the return – back to myself. 

And not necessarily the me by the sea in love, that time or two, those years back. It goes further and deeper than that. 

I’ve been returning to the me who took long walks alone on the shore for hours; the me who spent school lunch days on library steps. I just never knew, back then, how much of my intuitive self had existed all along. 

Now, having confronted both the shadow and the anima, I meet with the self, and, in doing so, I find that I have a persona not as like my soul as I once thought. And in this confrontation with my Self, I find not only a deeper connection to my authentic self, but a reconnecting to the parts of the self, which, I had possessed for years – unbeknownst to me. 

It is all, to be fair and honest with myself, a lot to grasp at once. 

Hence, again, I write: to crunch equations within myself known only to my soul. That quiet, intrepid part of myself that refuses to be placated. 

I find no placidity in self-deception, which, were I to ignore the call of the innermost voice of my being, I would find myself fully guilty of. 

One of the things I am facing is the internal conflict between my perceived need for confidence as a requisite for happiness, and my need for humility to the same end.

I strive to love myself yet must admit I am not entirely contented. 

Add to this, a relationship in which I find myself guilty for an entirely different set of similar yet related infractions, and you have a recipe for which I must write to reaffirm – or rediscover – that up is up and down indeed down. 

All I know, is that I spent a long time on myself, digging my lonely bones up from the past. And, one thing I discovered is that I was a guy who thought, internally at least, that my story was over. 

So, I, having spent so long finally forming a whole acceptance of myself and a true liking of my persona, am one who now struggles in light of the fact that I have to discard that to yet again reaffirm the magic in my bones, which again lay hidden beneath new mysteries. 

As I said, all a bit much. 

Wish I had the answers. 

‘Cause I fucking don’t. 

I’m just here, trying to evolve my liking of myself.

Computing that at thirty and some months change, I don’t care much for the society of my contemporaries – to put it mildly. 

To put it dryly, how could I. 

I want to cut down to size my frustrations as arrogance, but I also know I am different –  for better or worse, am that I am what I am. 

I once wanted to relate to men, wanted to look up to them, and on the rugby pitch or I’m contests with women I did. Now, I find myself desolate. Not so much without a friend or without want of them so much as without men I can look to and say, these are my people, these are my boys. 

Frustrating. Frustrating and saddening. 

Yes I have a woman, am in love. But I miss being in-like with my own kind, with myself. 

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