How often do we find ourselves labelled as "victims" by those who never truly see us? When the depth of our emotions is reduced to shallow judgments, it feels as though our pain is dismissed, and our truth becomes a story no one believes. This poem reflects that struggle—the tension between being misunderstood and recognizing the difference between genuine connection and superficial validation.
You say I always play the victim,
As if my truth is just fiction—
A tapestry spun from imagination,
Not years of silent navigation.
But you drank deep from the well I filled,
Saw what others never willed.
You smiled, you blushed at words I spoke—
Dimples and depths no one else awoke.
I saw the rebel hero beneath the dusky hue,
Found beauty in places no one knew.
Yet, you think my pain’s a minor stain,
Fixable with cash, a shallow gain.
You call it surface validation—
But dismiss the weight of my trepidation.
While I read poetry in the mundane,
You reduced my battles to a game.
Tell me, who’s really hiding in plain sight?
The one who sees or the one who blinds the light?
So, who's truly hiding in plain sight? Is it the one who sees the layers beneath the surface, who feels the weight of unspoken struggles, or the one who chooses to ignore them, brushing aside the complexities as mere games? Maybe it's time to question who the real "victim" is—the one who feels too deeply or the one who refuses to see.
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