It is not a façade.
Nor is it a deceit.
I am what I am.
And what I will become.
What I already have become.
The things I love,
The psyche I bear,
Is not thoroughly figured out.
Thoroughly refined.
It is a work in progress.
Unfinished derails of thoughts and memories.
So whatever I say,
The love or hate I utter,
Is the perception of my (current) opinion,
The fragment of my understanding,
Of my own becoming and growing,
(Hopefully, maturing).
In the process of growing,
For the sake of progressing,
Behind the shade of the unveiling,
It is not a façade.
No, it is not a lie.
It is an ode for becoming!
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