Ramblings from an uncomfortable moment of fragility. I am so quick to expose myself in poetry, ramblings and art and then share it on the internet. It soothes a part of me, like a private journal or letters that we have no intention of posting. People don’t visit my website and I take comfort from the fact I don’t know the people who do. It’s a different matter when a colleague asks to have a look at my site. Suddenly I am exposed. They can see my weaknesses in character and lack of skill in my chosen pastimes. It’s uncomfortable because the assumption is made that because I enjoy it, I’m good at it. It’s uncomfortable because they see that all the bravado is bullshit. And then I end up torn between craving their approval and wanting them to never see it in the first place. I annoy myself greatly and then partake in the biggest irony of writing about it, thus continuing the cycle, I am wholly fallible