unmasking

I never learned how to be a friend in the way people expect.

So I give things.

Little offerings.

Snacks, coffee, books, a plant,

pieces of myself wrapped in gestures of care.

I do it without thinking. It’s the language my heart learned before words.

I thought kindness was the language of belonging.

I thought if I gave enough, maybe someone would open a window,

just a crack,

and let me in.

But they didn’t.

They took the gifts.

They smiled, said thank you,

and left me standing outside,

hands still full of love I didn’t know how to spend.

Later, I heard the laughter.

My name, my awkwardness,

the way I tried too hard, cared too loudly, loved too obviously.

They called it strange.

They called it unnatural.

But I was never cruel.

I was never false.

And if you’re like me,

if you love too visibly,

if you hand people pieces of your heart hoping they’ll understand,

please, listen.

You don’t need to trade your warmth for entry.

You don’t need to prove you’re worthy of care.

People will take what they don’t understand,

and they will call it too much.

Protect your warmth.

Guard it like a small fire cupped in your palms.

Let it burn for you first,

and for those who meet you gently.

The right ones won’t take it.

They’ll sit beside you, quietly,

and glow with you.

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