stripping bare and baring all

[read part1, on being naked]

i always been good at saying a lot while not necessarily sharing myself or letting others in; i tell stories without telling how much of me they steal, how much of myself was lost in instances gaining existence, for individuals to find themselves living legends through my words that create worlds for receptive eyes+ears. and though some say talk is cheap, we storytellers know well-sharpened wit trades in hundreds-per-hour and well-wielded words can draw blood, because storytelling is an art honed on life lessons, on experience hard won through heartache+mistakes.
i write about being human but not about being myself because myself is messy, far too sprawling+untidy for me to neatly tie up and present for consumption, thoughts+ideas too obzocky for packaging into cleanly distilled overstandings i want to share.
i can only ever write my life in hindsight, never in the heated moments when i wish i could write my way to clarity and catharsis as others do. and perhaps this is why i don't write directly of the biggest things, why i gloss over and speak least of the situations+circumstances that affect me most, because by the time i can truly tell those stories i am already beyond them, having managed somehow to survive them, trying to be an eye in the storm of life...and while we speak of the eye as moment of beauty+stillness, the storm is what we story about, because destruction is how we learn what we made of...
walk good.