They Will See You II
You think you’ve hidden it well—
the twist behind the smile,
the snarl tucked neatly
behind a pleasantry,
the venom slipped
beneath the varnish of virtue.
But you were never good at lying.
You’ve just never had to be.
The world kept looking away
while you played your part,
and so you learned
that cruelty wrapped in calm
can pass as control.
That gaslight burns brighter
when no one dares to name the smoke.
But the thing about masks is—
they crack.
And the thing about power is—
it reveals.
You think you’re still fooling them.
With your smile made of gritted teeth,
your voice sugared in false concern,
your every sentence
measured to wound
but dressed as reason.
But they will see you.
They will feel it first—
a tension that enters the room
when you do.
The way the air shifts
to brace itself.
The way people shrink
without knowing why.
They will notice
how praise from your lips
leaves a stain.
How your kindness
has terms and conditions.
They will see
how nothing blooms in your presence—
only bends,
only withers,
only waits to be spared.
And then
they will name it.
Not all at once,
but slowly.
With quiet recognition
that builds like a storm.
A glance exchanged.
A story confirmed.
A pattern unearthed
from the wreckage you left behind.
They will see
how every compliment
came laced with control.
How your concern
was a leash.
How your charm
was camouflage
for what you didn’t want them to know.
And when they see—
truly see—
there will be no spectacle.
No grand collapse.
Just a silence
that no longer makes room for you.
Because the world may be slow,
but it is not blind forever.
And you’ve spent so long
assuming your reflection
was reality.
But even mirrors crack.
And when they do,
they show everything.
So smile.
Speak.
Spin your web.
The reckoning doesn’t need to rush.
It only needs to arrive.
And it will.
They will see you.
