I know things.
Things I've lived, not read.
Things that cost me something to learn.
But knowing isn't the same as being believed.
You can hand someone the truth
and watch them hand it back to you,
unopened.
And that's not even the worst part.
The sting is watching them take it —
wear it, use it, get praised for it —
while you're left standing there
questioning what you knew all along.
It doesn't just hurt your pride.
It hurts your soul.
Especially when it's the ones you love.
The ones you believed would trust you.
The ones you thought had your back
without needing proof.
There were the ones who spoke the truth with me.
And there were the ones who didn't listen.
I know which ones I remember.