Velvet Rain

I realized that I’ve been segregating myself from people. Not because I hate them, But because I thought — If no one is watching, then I can’t embarrass myself.

But with no spectators, I also removed my opportunities to grow.

Don’t get me wrong, I did grow — But I also discovered the places I refused to grow. I was running away from mistakes.

And avoiding people… Really meant avoiding myself.

I was chasing perfection, But deep down, my body already knew — There’s no such thing.

So I procrastinated. I looked to the ground. I avoided eye contact. I tried my best to become invisible.

And here’s the funny part: I’m kind of vain. Appearance means a lot to me.

I let everyone else be themselves, But me? I had to be the best. The prettiest. Not out of pride, But because my self-esteem was so low, I needed proof — That I had the right to exist.

So what do you call someone who’s hiding and trying to be seen?

I find it so hard to be honest.

So hard to say how I feel even to myself.

It’s hard to tell myself I’m wrong.

Harder to tell myself I’m right,

Because what if either answer still breaks me?

I find it so hard to be honest.

So hard to say:

I don’t like you anymore.

I don’t want to be around you anymore.

And maybe, I never did.

I find it hard to pick a path because I don’t know the truth.

Or maybe, I’ve been living a lie so long,

I mistook it for home.

For comfort.

For me.

I’ve been performing for eyes that never saw me.

Living in ways pleasing to the surface but starving inside.

There are two of me.

One takes the mic.

One knows the lines.

One smiles on cue.

One survives.

But the other one “the real me”

she’s hiding in the wings, scared to be seen.

Because in this world?

Honesty is a risk.

Truth is currency.

And sometimes, truth has never set me free.

Sometimes, it locked me tighter in.

I find it so hard to be honest in love.

In friendship.

As a sister.

As a daughter.

Even as a stranger passing by.

I find it so hard to be honest with my mind to say what I want.

To admit what I need.

To speak what I crave.

To name what I deserve.

So I became my own enemy.

My biggest op.

The villain dressed in my own skin.

The shadow behind every mirror.

And I wonder if truth keeps cutting me open,

will honesty ever heal me?

I find it so hard to be honest.

But maybe just maybe

honesty is the beginning of joy.

Maybe happiness isn’t perfection,