I’m getting pretty good at this—
the way I hold it together,
the way I answer
like nothing’s slipping.
You’d never know
how close it gets sometimes.
How everything inside me
leans just a little too far,
like it might tip
if I don’t stay careful.
But I do.
I keep my voice even.
My face steady.
My reactions small enough
to pass as normal.
I’ve learned the timing—
when to speak,
when to nod,
when to let silence
do the work for me.
It’s not lying exactly.
It’s… editing.
Choosing which parts
of myself
get to exist
in front of other people.
And I’m good at it now.
Good at being okay.
Good at making it believable.
Good at disappearing
just enough
to keep everything intact.
But there are moments—
small ones,
quiet ones—
where it almost breaks.
Where I forget
what I’m supposed to look like,
what version of me
I’m holding up.
And I feel it—
the weight
of everything I’ve pushed down
trying to come back up.
I catch it though.
I always do.
Smooth it out.
Lock it back in place.
Go right back
to being fine.
I’m getting pretty good at this—
and I don’t know
if that’s something
I should be proud of
or afraid of.
Through the Fog 