Self Portrait of Nakedness

My sneakers are still wet from the sweat of an earlier morning run. My throat still thirsty from my own salt, as I pour myself a glass of much needed water. My yoga mat still lies in temperament on the floor. My life, entirely made of glass. The day has overtly turned to a frigidly cold winter day, forcing my brain cells into a freezing exhaustion. Writing is always about what I know and what I see, then navigating that dark area in-between the two is what brings forth for me, the clarity. For today though, I cannot understand one ounce of what my brain is telling me. The sex and the sin, the rhythm and the verse, the philosophical, the unseen, the real, the imagined, the me, the you, the afflicted lover, the past, the future, the creative, the reserved, the fiction, the non – fiction, all are not happening today, as the cold has frozen even my ability to hit my keyboard in proper word formation.

Naked is to be oneself, nude is to be seen by others. Naked is always the self – portrait!