Would you?

Would you still love me if I dyed my hair purple?
Would you still love me if you read my poetry?
Would you still love me if I told you my secrets, my stories?
Would you still love me if I was honest?
Would you still love me if I showed you my scars?

If I told you I wanted to be free...

Would you still love me if I stopped hiding everything and took off my mask—
the one you told me was pretty?
Would you still love me...

Or if I stopped saying I was good when you asked how I was doing?

If I stopped being your ray of sunshine
and told you the truth—
I'm not fine.

Will I still be lovable
if I quit my job
of acting
and cracking jokes
when everything's wrong?

Or if I stop talking with care,
and the strong, independent woman appears?

If I use my tone and voice
in a way where my secrets
come out to play...

Would I still be lovable?
Cared for?
Cherished?

If I actually started to act like me?

Or would I always be told
to act ladylike?

To keep my mask on,
add some more makeup
to make it bright?

Be told to sit down
and show respect?

Would I be told
that I just want attention?

Would I be locked up
and shamed—

all because...

I stopped lying.