the Re-Turn(s)

Where have you been my blue eyed son?
Oh Where have you been my darling young one? -Bob Dylan

I have been silently crawling out of my skin. Less silently and more openly. Publicly. Beautifully. Like a piece of art. Or a caterpillar becoming a butterfly and I'm still making all of these pitiful mistakes. Avoidable mistakes. Predictable even. I am predictable. But everyone else can predict it, and me? I'm lost to myself. There's some kind of beauty in that. I'll never get sick of being around me, as long as the me I'm being is still changing and growing. Even if I don't like who that person is one day, I suppose I'll enjoy the journey.

And lately, my chest has felt tight. Like weight was being dropped on it, and my hearts beat seems off. It's out of sink with my head.
And I've been writing, just not in the conventional sense. Still presenting my thoughts to the world but in a louder, less effective, manner.

And Lastly, at least I'm consistent with myself.