My goals are encrusted in poetry.
Exude muscular grace
Embody the ideal.
These notions have always inspired me. Yet, I hold these aspirations close to my chest. I treat them as suspect. I’ve only recently allowed myself to reach for them. What am I afraid of revealing, a character flaw, a deep seated psychological failing? It could imply all of those things, but for me it’s simply an innate passion, truly part of my identity. But every bone in my body knew to stay quiet.
For so long, the path to my ambitions was through a landscape that was off limits. The mythology of my youth dictated only real boys were entitled to pursue athletics. Though I am authenticity male on the surface, trauma and situation conspired to convince me I wasn’t. My male facade was the mask of an imposter. You didn’t need to scratch very deep…
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