Misconception hides around the corner from me as I navigate through alleys of my heart.
Usually, it leaps out just after I pass, falling flat on the broken pavement behind me while I focus on what lies ahead.
Sometimes I feel wind move behind me, rustling hairs I’ve shaved off the back of my neck.
I don’t turn around.
I don’t want to hear sympathetic murmurings of those who think they know me.
I don’t want to see the confused gaze averted when it locks on my stoicism.
I don’t want to taste the stinging heat of shame dripping from your tilted head as you pass judgment even as you claim to be trying to understand.
I can clear the air, I guess.
I can lift the veil and show you who I am today, right now with my heart so full and my soul settled in a rhythm I wrote all by myself.
I can let you in enough to stop the rationalizing group discussions and mental gymnastics your misconception uses as a dance floor.
I can take misconception on, my sword of words ready to duel; I know in the cage where we battle I win.
I can be explained.
But you like the way misconception feels.
You like the mystery and drama surrounding unanswered questions you don’t think to ask me.
You like the way it screams at you; tantalizing blows to your core.
You like the stories you tell, connecting you to me.
So you don your misconceived mask, crouching in the shadows until I pass, never knowing there are no corners here.
I see you, Misconception.