The Hidden Journal

Sometimes truth arrives barefoot — tracking dirt across the floor.

I don’t always know what I’m trying to say until it’s already out.
Sometimes the words fall out messy,
half-formed,
too honest.

───

I used to rewrite everything.
Smooth the edges,
hide the parts that made me sound too fragile,
too human.
But lately I don’t want to sound strong.
I want to sound real.

───

There are days I feel like a contradiction —
soft but guarded,
open but terrified of being seen.
And maybe that’s okay.
Maybe the point isn’t to fix what I feel
but to let it breathe before I name it.

───

These are the hours when I stop trying to be poetic.
When I write the truth before I ruin it by trying to make it beautiful.
When I say what I mean
and let it sting a little.

───

Because not everything healing looks graceful.
Sometimes it looks like shaking hands
and run-on sentences.
Sometimes it looks like me,
sitting here,
writing this
unfiltered.

— Desiree