“You Don’t Know Me”

They tell me,

“You understand everyone.

You always read what’s behind their words.”

And I smile —

because they don’t know

how much I’ve been screaming behind mine.

You say,

“We never loved you.”

And I answer silently,

No… you do.

You just don’t know how to hear

what I’m really trying to say.

They say,

“We know you.”

But I say back:

You don’t.

Because if you did,

I wouldn't have to prove myself over and over.

You wouldn’t believe the noise —

You’d trust me.

Since childhood,

I’ve lived under shadows

of being misunderstood.

Not because I lied,

but because no one ever paused

to ask me what was true.

You chose to believe others —

everyone else became the truth.

And I?

I was the lie,

the one who always had to explain,

justify,

defend.

But that’s why…

I try to understand people

—not just their words—

but the feelings behind what they’re trying to say.

Because I know what it’s like

to not be heard at all.

Still, I’m tired now.

Tired of proving I’m not what they say.

Tired of being told

who I am

by people who never cared to know.

So let them talk.

Let them decide.

Let them believe their version of me.

Because the real me?

She’s not asking to be seen anymore.