liberty

Free from expectation … oh, how i long to be.

I’m not quite sure who has the highest expectations of me. But my gut feeling says that it’s myself. And that, kind sirs and madams, I hope to change.

Because lately, I’ve found that expectation (although it doesn’t necessarily create false hope) creates false identity. I refuse to be defined according to expectations. I am not a byproduct of empty standards glued to my forehead. I hate being labeled according to ambition or potential, to “her future’s possibilities.” I am not a perfect porcelain doll or a dictionary or a coat-rack or a blank slate. I am not your disposable brilliance, not an exhibit at a museum to gape and gawk at. Googly-eyed, drooling fools don’t understand that I am not my brain. Just like they say: “a heart ain’t a brain,” well, a brain ain’t a person either.

I’m waiting to crack the ivory because I can’t stand rosy cheeks and the ‘thank you’ of forced modesty much longer.