Why can't I trust the gift I've been given -I know it's there somewhere dusty, buried deepdown inside- and I keep ignoring, hiding it. I turn it into something almost inexistent after so many years of denial; I've torn it up after such an amount of incalculable damage, of unavoidable wasted, valuable time that I've spent carrying the heavy burden of my non-chosen life.
It seems like I want to keep covering the little shining light that still fights, unable to surrender in me -that's maybe the reason why I'm still standing, trembling, but standing anyway-. I let it be spoiled and diminished with all the dirt and junk I preserve inside from those ancient days long, long ago lived, but apparently not forgotten, not forgiven, not even for the guilty ones, but even less for me, the guiltiest on my own demand; my chosen, blurred, unfair, unreal and distorted value judgement
I have, no, I need to quit setting traps on my skills... I need learnig how to enjoy myself practising them, instead of constantly be judging myself... Not everything is good or bad, black or white, there are greys. I'm not perfect or mediocre... I can be a dynamic, full of life, vital, "experimentadora" enjoying while she looks for and finds out her path and style.
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