You know that inside you is a man. Someone you’re to become. A man just waiting for you to figure it all out. You used to think this man was made of borrowed pieces of men you admire. Tendencies of men you wish you could emulate. Men who keep their cool. Men who give others a chance, men who are open-minded. Athletic men who can naturally run fast, who can stick to a plan, who have lofty goals and healthy relationships. Men who know when enough is enough.
Inside you are pieces and parts of these men. Limbs you can attach when necessary.
But maybe Michelangelo was right? Maybe the sculpture, or, in your words, the man lay sleeping within the rock until ready to emerge? And when finally freed of the marble prison, when rid of rough edges, this man finds joy without effort. This man is you.
Your skin, so smooth. So hard. So real.