Human Actually

Human, Actually" I’m tired. Not the slept-four-hours kind — the deep-in-my-bones kind. The kind where you smile and it cracks, 'cause your face forgot how to fake it. People love to say “You’re so strong.” Like that’s a compliment. Like I asked to carry the weight and never complain. Like strength isn’t just survival dressed up in silence. I feel too much. Then I don’t feel at all. And when I finally say something, it’s too late, too dramatic, too emotional. Too human. I apologize for existing in full volume when the world keeps begging me to whisper. But I’m done shape-shifting just to fit in rooms that weren’t built for me. Done being palatable. Done pretending pain isn’t poetic. It is. I am. There are days I barely hold it together. Days where my chest is an echo chamber of everything I never said out loud. And if that makes me complicated — good. I’d rather be real than easy to love. So no, I won’t dull this down. I won’t tuck the mess behind closed doors. I’ll bleed in daylight. I’ll break out loud. I’ll laugh ugly. I’ll feel it all — even when it hurts. Because being human was never about being perfect. It’s about staying anyway. Even when your hands are shaking. Even when the light feels too far