I’m Speaking Now

I ain’t a poet. I ain’t trying to be.

But something’s off. I feel it.
Everybody’s turning on me. Yeah, all of them.

One day I’m fine, the next day I’m invisible.
Hugs, smiles—but not the connection I need.
I’m left feeling… unloved. On a Friday night,
when the world should feel lighter, it feels cold.

I haven’t done anything wrong.
Yet here comes the blame, the whispers, the rumors.
People think they know me. They don’t.
They don’t see the truth I carry inside.

I give my heart in words and actions.
I say what I mean. I mean what I say.
“I love you” isn’t a game—it’s the measure of who I am.
The people who matter know that. The rest… that’s not my burden.

And still, some turn cold. Some disappear.
Some take offense at what isn’t even theirs to judge.
And I sit here wondering: when did being me become a problem?

I could get loud. I could fight.
But noise doesn’t fix emptiness.
Truth does. Presence does. Clarity does.

I hold onto what’s mine: my work, my craft, my fire.
Not for applause. Not for recognition.
Because passion is its own reward.

I step back from the rest.
I breathe. I reclaim my energy.
I love who deserves it. I protect what matters.
Everything else? I let it drift.

I am here. I am real.
I am not the story they tell about me.
I am myself, in every sharp edge, every shadow, every pulse.

I am gone… for now.
But I will return.
Whole. Clear. Strong