I’m Not the Only One

I’m not the only one, and I know that

When you write,

you get to paint the narrative—

Who tells the lie,

Who wears the villain’s skin.

The writer becomes the version

that gets to live.

The spoken story dies

on gossip-worn lips,

like disappearing movie clips.

But it’s not lost on me—

the distortion of perspective.

My own.

I own.

I write it on my phone.

I don’t pretend I’m angelic,

but my words—

they’ll be the relic.

A sing-song note,

a turn of phrase

can wake the glaze

into my gaze.

I like to write.

I like to share.

It helps me feel

like someone’s there.

There’s longing

threaded in my word—

a hunger

to be seen,

to be heard.

What breaks me open,

what always hurts:

I try to speak my pain first—

privately.

Softly.

To get the point of you

from your point of view.

Because every voice

deserves to move through.

But if I can’t speak it to you—

then I’ll speak it true

in the place I choose.

Because my word

is mine to give.

And I will give it

where it can live.

I’ll give you my word.

I give you

my word.

It’s not new—

Well, maybe to you.

I’ve nourished friends

with sacred care,

Made secret amends

they’ll never share.

My friendships are my worship—

they rarely end in warships.

Imagine the words

I’ve kept protected,

perspectives I’ve never rejected.

They shifted mine,

like stars that realign.

So when I give,

I give full chance—

to every soul

in this cosmic dance.

I give them

their chance.

So talk to me—

not about me.

Talk to me,

because the words you whisper

behind my back

fade fast or fracture

under gossip’s slack.

They twist,

they tarnish,

they slip away—

But what you say

still says more about you

than it ever could

about me.

And I’m not saying

I’m not guilty of gossiping.

When I am,

I feel it—deep.

I can recall

every word I spoke

behind someone’s back,

and it claws at me quietly.

It’s too heavy

for me to live with that.

But if I say it here—

out loud,

clear,

for you to hear—

I feel no guilt.

I’ll tell it plainly.

I’ll tell all ears

when I talk about it.

So let me protect your perspective.

Meet me there.

Because I truly believe—

it’s not just about me.

It never was.

I’m very clear

when I communicate what I do.

But I still care

how the world feels through you.

I care how it’s seen,

how it lands,

what it moves.

I really do.

So offer me your word,

your truth,

your point of view.

Because in my life,

there’s so much point to you.

To me,

your words

have so much value.