Listen Linda

The truth isn’t black or white

The truth isn’t wrong or right.

The truth isn’t far from goodbye

But the truth is this is no longer fair to you nor I.

This truth is a reality. We all have one of those.

My truth will be different.

My truth is my own.

It might be something that no one understands.

But sometimes that is better than a world that wants to hold your hand.

The truth can be a weapon or used as a liar see fits.

The truth can be the reason and a consequence of it.

The truth isn’t pretty.

But the truth can be kind.

The truth was I had so much too lose, and there is nothing else left to hide.

I’ve been looking in old journals and I found something. It got me thinking about the perception of the truth, in all its forms it’s the most honest thing written, lived, experienced. Our values and moral values, and how we live by these things…me and my mind…

So, if one was to think about it, the truth is not a boundary line. It’s a shift in presence, shaped by perception, circumstances carry weight of it all. And it’s not simply a right or a wrong, nor does it exist in clean lines. Truth can be a whisper, a wound, a reconciliation. It can be the moment between holding on and ultimately letting go.

The truth can be very personal as we each craft our own versions, formed from the experiences and understandings we’ve gone through. At times it can be unrelenting. But it’s something that urges us forward, demanding acknowledgement. Other times, it is quiet—existing only in the recesses of our hearts, where few will ever fully see or comprehend it.

Wildly in this form of thinking, the truth could be considered a paradox. Because it can liberate or confine. It can be welded as a weapon, sharp, and unforgiving, exposing what is hidden. It can also be an offering—as an act of kindness, an acceptance of vulnerability, a bridge instead of a barricade.

The truth will never be without consequence. To accept it is to surrender illusions, to acknowledge what has been lost. In the part that I wrote: The truth is, I had so much to lose—and now, there is nothing left to hide. I feel in that admission, there is grief. There is clarity. There is an unspoken understanding that the truth does not ask for permission simply to exist. It just is what it is.

I feel that this poem of mine explores how the truth exists in shades of complexity, not rigid binaries of right or wrong, black or white. And if you catch on you see the underlying theme of personal reality—that each person carries their own version of truth, shaped by their experiences, emotions, and decisions.

I was also expressing the power of truth, on how it can be both a force for clarity and a potential tool for manipulation. Because I know first hand how it can be used to strategize an agenda. Contexts twisted as means to “justify’’ an outcome. In contrast, however, the truth can also be an act of kindness, a release, a necessary step towards healing honestly.

In the final lines I expressed a melancholy acceptance, I recognized that the truth requires loss, vulnerability, and exposure. Yet in that surrender, there is also freedom. I feel my words captured the tension between holding on and letting go, between the need to embrace personal truth and the reality that not everyone will understand it.

I wanted it to read like something deeply introspective. Like reflecting on a moment of transition, where truth no longer serves as shelter but as a path forward.