I used to try to be Good. I thought no one wanted me as I was, so Good was my go-to. But Good got me nowhere. Not like Truth. Truth, she tore me to shreds, devoured me whole, and spit me out shaking and new. Truth carries a box of matches in her pocket. While Good, she’s afraid of fire. Truth keeps me real, even if it makes everyone in the room uncomfortable. Truth, unlike Good, doesn’t let me bow down to undeserving soapboxes. Truth doesn’t let me give in to bullies, misguided and fear-based criticism, or cowards. Truth is a queen and a humanitarian, while Good, she’s a silent, scared little sheep. Truth knows that Good dulls my already radiant, fierce, and loving soul. Good showed me how to hide my wings, my sharp teeth, and angel vision. Truth taught me to be brave. Truth taught me how to respect myself. Truth, my friend, allows me to hold impenetrable space for any story, but first and foremost, my own. And Truth, well, she changes everything, and, friend, she’s coming for you.