Author’s Note: This is a modern rewrite of a personal piece I originally wrote in October 2013. The emotions remain the same—only the voice has grown.
I don’t want to hold back anymore.
Not again.
Not after all the times I’ve watched love disappear
before it even began.
I’m done living in the shadow of tomorrow.
The what-ifs, the maybe-somedays.
I want to be here—
whole, human,
and finally, me.
No, I’m not a princess,
though I wear her dress.
But thank you for seeing what lies beneath:
not the role,
but the woman.
I’ve never been perfect.
Just human.
Just longing.
Just surviving the weight
of rescuing myself.
Again and again.
Would you still love me
if I’m all messed up?
If I hand you the tangled threads of who I am
and ask you to stay?
I don’t want to look back anymore—
not at the girl who kept hiding in the mirror,
not at the sadness she wore like second skin.
I want to move forward.
Choose joy.
Choose self.
Choose truth.
Maybe I’m not your fairytale.
But I never lied.
Everything I showed you was real.
My silence, my fight, my heart.
You were a hero I wanted—
but I gave up too soon.
We had time,
but I didn’t know how to trust it.
Would you still love me
if I’m still finding the pieces?
If I’ve fallen apart
before I’ve bloomed?
I’m letting go of the weight of expectations—
others’, and my own.
But I’m not letting go of love.
Not the kind that heals, not the kind that stays.
So tell me,
if this is real—
please show me.
And if this is what I’m meant to feel—
then let me feel it.
All of it.
Even if I’m all messed up.
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