Every time I walk out of a job interview, I’m left in pieces. It’s like a battlefield where I showed up ready but walked away bruised... not from lack of preparation but from the looks, the tone, the slurring speech of interviewers who seem to carry judgment in their eyebrows. Their hesitation cuts deeper than words. It’s not curiosity, it’s dismissal, suspicion, superiority. The air thickens with unspoken rejection and it boils my blood. My fists clench with the urge to scream, “See me for who I am, not your shallow assumptions.” It’s exhausting. Every time I try to stay composed, they chip away at it. These rooms, these tables, these fake smiles they strip me of dignity and I hate it. But I’ll keep walking in. Not for them, but for me. Because one day, someone won’t flinch, won’t judge and they’ll see the fire I bring not just to survive but to rise. Until then, I vent, I burn and I keep going.