You know that being honest will
act as a filter and push people away.
It doesn’t really seem important, before you
make the commitment and
strap yourself in for the ride.
You feel brave…like a
renegade or an anarchist. “F*%#
what you think (but please
don’t think horrible thoughts about me).”
It starts to feel real, loneliness
creeping in like a thick black fog.
You remember old hurts and
connect them to future wounds, lacing them
through your present pain.
It feels too real, but you have to get up and keep going,
because you’re sitting down now, already exhausted.
Oh, you know there are people looking
at their screen, shaking their heads as they
scroll through everyone’s lives. Dra...

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