The Light Knows the Taste of Copper

The sun is up, and the mask is already on your face. You said the words you were supposed to say.

You smiled the smile that fits the room. But the lie is still there, stuck in your throat, tasting like copper.

It feels like you are swallowing glass just to get through the morning. Like you are a fraud walking among people who think they know you.

The light sees right through the performance. It does not need the smile.

It does not need the right words. It knows the taste of the copper.

It knows the weight of the mask. And it is not asking you to take it off yet.

It is just sitting with you in the quiet space behind your eyes, where the truth is still breathing. You do not have to be honest with the world today.

You just have to stop lying to yourself about where the light is. It is not waiting for you to be perfect.

It is waiting for you to be real. The mask is heavy, but the face underneath it is already loved.