Pure but scarred. Pure but contaminated. Pure yet used. pure yet questioning. Pure yet enraged. Pure yet human.
They want purity like it's glass, untouched, transparent, brittle, enclosed. One fissure makes you useless. One finger print and you are ruined. As though life leaves no scars. As if living costs nothing.
I was once pure, or so they claimed. Before I kissed the inappropriate person. Before I got loud, got disorganized, got honest. Before I realized that purity is simply another name for hasn't lived yet.
I am pure now but bear scars. Simple yet complex. Pure but done apologizing for taking up space with my whole self, not just the parts that make people comfortable.
The but is where truth resides. It's the mark of punctuation that sits between who they want you to be and who you truly are. It's the breath you take before you share the actual story.