The Cost of Being Real

When you choose truth over comfort, some will leave but the right ones stay

Seventy walked away last month.
Clicked unsubscribe, inaudible break.

It hurts, I won’t masquerade.
Every name that fades means someone chose comfort over truth,
easier silence over uncomfortable honesty.

But I won’t shrink for them.
I won’t mute the parts of me that scream,
that rage,
that refuse to be anything less than whole even when it’s raw.

My voice isn’t a lullably; a battle cry
unavailable to be contaminated to soothe your nerves.
My morals stand like a fist raised in a storm.

Lose me if you must.
I don’t write for the faint-hearted.
I write for the fighters, the broken, the wild souls
who refuse to settle for soft lies.

I’m not here to be palatable.
I’m here to be defiant,
messy,
fiercely, painfully real.

Unsubscribes and all -
I’m still standing