Show. Don’t Tell.

Every time I try to capture my latest revelation about the state of my life and what I think comes next, my fingers freeze.

As if someone is showing me the difference between intellect and knowing; that I’ve spent a lifetime prizing one at the expense of the other.

That what comes next is embodying my truth instead of preaching it.

Or, as writers say…

Show. Don’t tell.

Published by

a girl named rob

I used to be "skinny black girl." I'm now a slender woman on the other side of 35 with no new moniker who is not quite interested in writing under her given name. Still writing my life, a day (or some months) at a time. Also, still black.

2 thoughts on “Show. Don’t Tell.”

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