narcissism or repression or both

[venusundae]

Most of the time, I have this small longing - an itch in my fingers or a taste in my mouth, as though wishes existed in every part of me - to be as honest and open as I can be.


I want to not hide anything from any person. I want to not have to worry about which pieces of myself I reveal at which strategic times to which specific people. I want to take all of my loves and set them up on the same shelf as shameless as kitschy trinkets. I would rearrange them when I want, and be able to dust them off all at once instead of dancing all around the house trying to remember where I hid those certain ones nobody was supposed to see, lest someone laugh at the bubbling tactless lines painted upon their unpolished ceramic faces.

It would be nice to have somewhere, someone, where at least every once in a while, I could show off all my trinkets without fear. Not, even, is there a wish for anybody else to appreciate them the way I do. I just want somebody to understand that I care enough to want to show them to the sunlight every once in a while. Maybe share a tea party with me, where we'd make jokes and eat cake while I tell you little stories about where I got each little trinket like bobbles from thrift stores. And I'd listen to your trinket tales too, from ones fashioned yourself with leftover paints to those reluctantly received birthday gifts.
And we'd be neither embarrassed or ashamed, because we couldn't help but know that every tiny trinket was special simply by existing. Each secret we have only sticks around because it means something to us.

But I don't know if that could ever happen. Because it is scary, in this world, to be entirely ourselves all at once. So I will continue hiding those cracking trinkets in dusty rooms. Smiling figurines will watch from beneath bell jars, under the guise of casual fascination, a distant unattached ownership. And we'll all keep pretending our secrets mean nothing.