I used to decorate my silence—
with smiles too bright and words too planned.
A people-pleaser in lipstick armor,
pretending I didn’t mind the demand.
But you can only bend so far
before the mask starts to crack,
and I got tired of hiding behind
versions of me that never fought back.
So I let it all fall—
the façade, the filters, the fragile “I’m fine.”
And God, it was loud—
the kind of silence that hums like a warning sign.
But in that collapse,
I finally met myself raw—
the woman who doesn’t shrink for comfort,
who won’t play nice just to keep the peace law.
Because peace isn’t passive—
it’s power dressed in calm.
And healing isn’t pretty—
it’s a riot wrapped in a psalm.
I’ve outgrown performing resilience.
Now, I embody it—unpolished, unapologetic, true.
If my softness offends you,
that says more about you.
This isn’t a breakdown—
it’s a breakthrough in motion.
A reckoning with my reflection,
a self-love devotion.
So let them call it attitude—
I call it alignment.
Let them call it rebellion—
I call it refinement.
My façade fell
so my truth could stand—
barefoot, bold,
and finally unmanned.
