If this is true, why is it so hard to be real? Living in a world where we're told that we need this, that or the other thing in order to be happy changes us. We've grown up at the very center of it. I remember reading stupid teen magazines as a young teenager and plotting my way to an unobtainable body, instead of being told about the magic of giving freely of yourself, despite the outcome.
For some, it takes a lifetime to simply say "I love you." Is it because of the fear of rejection, do they simply not love themselves, or maybe a combination of both. That said, how liberating is it to put yourself on the line with the internal knowledge that you're okay either way.
I started this blog years ago, with that exact sentiment. See Butter is as Butter does if you're new here. And although I don't have a ton of followers, or even comments in many cases, it is liberating to put your own rare meat on the page in a shout or a whisper, without remorse.
In short, if you ever doubt being real, don't. The fake stuff doesn't carry a tune into the heart of another. Just like you wouldn't put I can't believe it's not butter on lobster (AT LEAST I FUCKING HOPE NOT!) other souls don't want those raunchy chemicals either.
Thank you Charles Bukowski for teaching this lesson through your outrageous, often disgusting tales of your real life.
