Fact or Fiction

Fact or Fiction Depending on who’s asking Tell me— do you want the truth, or the version that keeps things easy? Because I’ve learned answers aren’t always about honesty. Sometimes they’re about safety. Sometimes they’re about survival. Fact or fiction— it depends on who’s asking. If you come gently, I might hand you something real, something unpolished, still breathing, still fragile in my palms. But if you come with judgment hidden behind curiosity, if your questions feel like traps instead of bridges— then I’ll give you fiction. Not lies— just edited truths. The kind that fit your expectations, the kind that don’t challenge what you’ve already decided about me. Because truth is expensive. It costs vulnerability. It costs being seen without a guarantee of being understood. And not everyone earns access to that. So yes— sometimes I rewrite the story. I swap out pain for “I’m okay,” replace confusion with confidence, turn chaos into something that sounds like control. And you nod, satisfied, because it makes sense to you. But sense is not the same as truth. Fact or fiction— it shifts with the room, with the tone of your voice, with whether your presence feels like a place I can rest or a place I have to defend myself. Because the truth is— I am both. I am the story I tell and the one I keep hidden. I am honesty and hesitation. I am the version of me you understand and the one you never will. So if you’re asking— be careful how you ask. Because the real answer isn’t just in my words… it’s in whether I feel safe enough to give it to you.