Hard to Love, Easy to Hate

I tried God, I f***ing tried. To be liked. To be easy. To be the kind of girl they don’t talk about once she leaves the room. Smiled soft, spoke sweet, let the sharp edges hide beneath skin. Held their secrets. Held my breath. Held it together when they left. They called me fake for being kind. Called me a b*** for standing still. Said I was cold — because I didn’t beg. And behind my back? They picked me apart like vultures in a lunchroom. Too smart. Too quiet. Too much. Too little. No one asked how it felt to hear the laughter drop when I walked in. But f*** it — let’s talk about it. Let’s talk about how being honest makes you the villain. How integrity gets you F***ing isolated. How trying too hard makes you a target, and not trying at all makes you invisible. I worked harder, so they said I was showing off. I followed rules, so they called me self-righteous. I told the truth, and they hated me for it. They didn’t want real. They wanted agreeable. Bendable. Quiet enough to vanish, but pretty enough to watch. And I couldn’t do it. Wouldn’t. So I stopped trying. Stopped shrinking into apologies. Stopped bleeding just to belong. Stopped handing out softness to people who’d only chew it up. Now? Now I walk like I own the air around me. Now I smile when I want, and say what I mean. Now I save my kindness for the ones who don’t expect me to earn their f***ing decency. I am hard to love — for the ones who never learned how to love hard things. But I’m still here. Still singing. Still standing. So hate me. Misread me. Talk your s**t. I know who I am. And I’m not bending for anyone.