You say you’ve got high standards.
Cool.
But let’s look closer—
Are those standards?
Or just defense mechanisms
in a tux?
You’re not protecting your worth.
You’re protecting your wound.
You say, “I don’t tolerate bullshit.”
But really—
you just can’t tolerate intimacy.
You say, “I have boundaries.”
But really—
you’re just scared of being seen.
That isn’t self-respect.
It’s emotional armor.
Customized.
Polished.
Passed off as healed.
You didn’t build those standards from clarity.
You built them from hell.
From betrayal.
From being overlooked.
From being second place
in rooms you were too much for
and not enough for at the same time.
Now you call yourself “selective”
but you’re just scared of connection
you can’t control.
You act cold,
because being warm never worked out.
You act unbothered,
because giving a shit got you gutted.
But don’t confuse being guarded
with being evolved.
Don’t confuse your scar
for your compass.
Because not every person
is your past in disguise.
Not every opportunity
is a setup.
Not every open door
wants to close on your throat.
Your standards aren’t the problem.
Your scar tissue is.
