If Honesty Looks Like Madness 

You don’t like my point of view,

you think that I’m insane—

because I see cracks in the surface

you’re determined to call normal.

I question what you’ve learned to accept.

I feel too deeply,

say the quiet parts out loud,

refuse to numb myself

just to fit the frame.

If honesty sounds like madness,

if sensitivity feels like a threat,

then maybe sanity was never meant

to be comfortable.

I’m not broken—

I’m just standing where the truth is louder,

where pretending takes more energy

than being real.

And if that makes me hard to understand,

so be it.

I’d rather be misunderstood

than mute myself into something

that finally makes sense to you

but costs me everything.