the outline of a naked soul

here's a list i've come up with:

my cell phone
my ipod
my laptop
my car
my clothes
my shoes
my jewelry
my attitude
my sense of humor
my make-up
my friends
my degree(s)
the way i wear my hair
the books i carry
the opinions i voice

it's short but it's a good start. it's a list of the shit i pile on top of who i really am. it's the list of barnacles i've allowed to attach to my person in order to feel wanted, sufficient, and cool. this is a list of my fig leaves. i've fallen, i've observed, and i've adopted the learned instinct of my fellow man to hide who he/she really is by purchasing, layering, and settling. the ironic piece is that these fig leaves, the things i've accumulated as a shield of protection from rejection, are the same items i unknowingly, and with little progress, have to fight against to 'find my true self.'

it's a set up. something, or someone, is telling me i'm not good enough, "my word! you're naked! you're going to need some leaves to cover up that vulnerability...lucky for you, i'm having a sale on fig trees this week."

it's really hard to be transparent with all these leaves covering all the real bits of me. i'm not saying none of the list has value (thank god for continued education or i would've had a real job by now). i don't really know what i'm trying to say, i've noticed a conflict of heart between who i am and who i'd like to be. i'm just throwing it out there.