If I told you what really happened
in the months I disappeared,
would you still love me?
Not just that I was homeless—
you already know that word—
but the nights behind it,
the ways I survived
when survival cost me pieces of myself.
If you knew where I slept,
how I earned warmth,
how hunger teaches you
to accept things you never imagined accepting—
would your love change shape?
Would you look at me
and only see what I did,
or would you still see
the person who was just trying
to make it to morning?
I never told you the truth,
because I was afraid
that knowing me fully
would be the thing
that made you leave.
So tell me—
if you learned what those two months did to me,
would you still choose me,
or would that be where
your love finally stops?
YOU ARE READING
Every part of me
PoetryThis book took years to begin. Not because I lacked words, but because I lacked the courage to open my heart. To my readers- this is my soul, laid bare. Every page holds a piece of me: my vulnerability, my joy, the moments I loved deeply, and the gr...
