In order to swim, one takes off all one’s clothes—in order to aspire to the truth, one must undress in a far more inward sense, divest oneself of all one’s inward clothes, of thoughts, conceptions, selfishness, etc., before one is sufficiently naked.
—Søren Kierkegaard
And so I attempt to slip out
of the shirt of defensiveness,
slip off the belt of shame.
I wriggle against the jeans
of righteousness and tug
off the socks of distrust.
It’s scary to take it all off,
but everything else feels too tight
these days, and damn,
I just want the truth so bad,
want to wear it like my own skin,
want to step into it like slippers
I will never take off, want to
wear it like boots that will
carry me over any terrain,
want to wear it like
an eternal perfume—
something I am sure is there
even with my eyes closed,
even in the dark.
