Fragments of Cassandra

Some of us learn early to shrink into shadows;
soft-footed, careful, hiding too much or not enough.

We contort ourselves to fit the standard, trading our fire for a safer shell
because the world still throws stones at what doesn’t fit the mold.

But even when we do;
when we twist ourselves just right—
we are gawked at, objectified, made unsafe,
as if being seen was a punishment for trying to belong.

So tell me
Is it better to disappear, to be safe from the storm,
or to be seen but still never win, never feel warm?

In that quiet, we vanish, in difference, we burn.
what is it we truly, deeply yearn?

Is it connection;
to be held without being judged or sized?

Is it peace;
a silence that doesn’t feel like loneliness disguised?

Is it acceptance;
to be seen in our rawest form
and not treated like a rough draft
waiting to be rewritten?

Or maybe it’s simpler than that.

Maybe every aching human heart is asking,
“If I show you who I really am, 
will you still stay?”

Because hiding keeps you safe—
but only for a while.

Eventually, you forget the sound of your own voice.
You forget what it feels like
to exist without apologizing for it.

And maybe what we want
is not invisibility.

Maybe we want someone
to look at every imperfect, unpolished piece of us
and say,
“You can stop pretending now.
I’m not leaving.”


Be’ahava,
Cassandra