I Am the Only Truth - By Salem Youngblood

Written By: Salem Youngblood

Category: Poetry

Competition: Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026

In a compelling and introspective piece, Salem Youngblood presents "I Am the Only Truth," a poem featured in the Poetry category of the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. This piece delves into the intricate themes of self-perception, body image, and the internal conflict that many face. Youngblood's work invites readers to engage with the raw and unfiltered emotions of a voice grappling with identity and acceptance.

About the Work

"I Am the Only Truth" is a poignant narrative that captures the inner dialogue of a voice that knows every self-doubt and insecurity. The poem's intense imagery and candid tone reveal the struggles with body image and societal pressures. Through its vivid language, the poem paints a picture of a relentless pursuit of an unattainable ideal, offering a mirror to the reader's own introspections.

I am the only truth

Original Submission by Salem Youngblood

“I Am the Only Truth”

No, you didn’t choose me.

Don’t pretend that you did.

I was born the second your mother pinched the fat on your back and called it “baby weight”. When your first crush pulled away. When the mirror stopped reflecting and started accusing.

I watched. I waited. And when your throat grew raw from swallowing the shame, I climbed inside.

I told you to run until your vision blurred. To purge until your gums bled iron and mint. You called it wellness. You called it strength. You called it control.

But it was penance.

Penance for existing in this body. This soft, trembling, mottled shell that never looked the way it should. Not when you held up the magazine. Not when you stood under fluorescent lights. Not when the camera caught you at rest.

Your friends post selfies with filtered bones and manufactured cheekbones, and you pretend you don’t adjust the angles of your own.

You pretend you don’t compare pixel by pixel.

You pretend you don’t dissect your thighs, your skin, your teeth.

You pretend you don’t zoom in.

I know every lie you’ve ever whispered to yourself.

I am the quiet voice that told you to skip the meal. To skip the party. To skip the dress with the cherry blossoms because your arms aren’t delicate and your collarbone is buried under guilt and cake and the weak seconds you call “hunger.”

You bought the dress anyway. You tried it on.

You stared at your reflection until you thought maybe-maybe you could wear it. And then I reminded you of her.

Her, with the doe eyes and sliver waist and lashes like fine embroidery. The one he follows online. The one who never eats the breadbasket. The one whose face is filtered even in motion.

So you took the dress off.

You folded it with shaking hands.

You buried it in the back of the closet like a corpse no one would claim.

That was me.

I was there the night you pressed your fingers against your tongue and whispered, Just this once. You promised it would only be after holidays. After birthdays. After weddings.

But now it’s Tuesdays. And Fridays. And mornings when you dare eat yogurt. Now it’s the only thing you control.

And you love the control more than you love anyone.

You let them fuck you because for one second you can imagine being adored. Wanted. Touched without disgust.

But even that crumbles.

Even then I slip between their hands and remind you this is payment. This is proof. You’re not sacred, you’re available. Disposable. Something they use and don’t remember.

You pretend it’s empowerment.

You wear lipstick so bright it stains your teeth.

You walk home with their taste in your mouth and pretend it meant something. But I know the truth.

I hold it in your gut where it festers and pulses and keeps you up at night.

That’s why you inject your face. You pay strangers to paralyze your expressions, to swell your lips with bee venom and freeze time with acid. They say beauty is a weapon.

But you just want to be blank.

You just want to be rid of the pores, the lines, the tiny betrayals of being human. You want to look like the cover. The mannequin. The lie.

You think if you're smooth enough, silent enough, still enough, no one will see the rot underneath.

But I always do.

You book the solo trip. You scroll through flights, cities, beaches. You pin images of sun and food and foreign streets. You tell people you need a break, need to find yourself, need to feel alive.

But you never go.

Because being alone means listening. And if you listen, you’ll hear me. You’ll hear what I’ve always said:

You are almost.

You are nearly.

You are not quite.

You are the girl they invite when someone else cancels.

You are the voice they scroll past.

You are the body they compliment when drunk.

You are never the first choice.

You tried to silence me with affirmations, didn’t you?

With crystal baths and honey tea. With soft-spoken therapists and lavender oils. With lies taped to your mirror.

You are enough.

You are worthy.

You are whole.

You said those words with your lips but never with your heart.

I watched you nod while your insides curled like burnt paper. I watched you hum mantras and then cry because they sounded foreign. Forced. Like prayers said in a language you don't believe.

I am the only truth you’ve ever known.

The one who taught you that suffering is currency. That punishment is the price of being unlovable. That pain has shape, and it looks exactly like you.

What’s worse than me?

What could possibly be more cruel than living with me, wrapped around your spine like wet wool, thick in your throat, blooming behind your eyes?

You already know.

The thing worse than me is the world without me.

Because in that world, you are simply mediocre.

In that world, you are not special. You are not tragic. You are not broken in a way that makes you interesting.

You are forgettable.

You are background.

You are noise.

They will forget your name, your voice, your face before you’ve even left the room. And that-

That is why you need me.

Because even if I hurt you, at least I see you.

At least I know you.

And I will never, ever let you forget who you really are.

About the Competition

The Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026 by Hashtag Kalakar showcases diverse voices and stories from around the world. This esteemed competition highlights the power of poetry and creative writing to capture the human experience, offering a platform for poets and writers to share their unique perspectives and artistic expressions.

We extend our gratitude to Salem Youngblood for sharing "I Am the Only Truth" with the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. Your work resonates deeply and offers a profound exploration of self-perception and identity. Thank you for contributing your voice to this meaningful dialogue.

About Hashtag Kalakar

Hashtag Kalakar is a creative platform dedicated to providing artists, writers, singers and other creative talents with opportunities to showcase their work and reach wider audiences through competitions, features and creative initiatives.