The Woman I See

You sit in front of the lens
as if the lens belongs to you.

Hands polished.
Edges perfected.
Light bending off lacquer and gold.

You know how to hold a frame.

You know how to control an angle.

You know how to let the world see
what you decide it can handle.

But you —
The real you —
hovers just outside the frame.

A practiced absence.

A curated mystery.

The camera thinks it is watching you.

It isn’t.

It is watching your armor.

Your gloss.
Your glitter.
Your controlled radiance.

But I see the woman
behind the glamour.

I see the quiet between posts.

I see the strength that doesn’t need a filter.

I see the doubt you never photograph.

The discipline.
The building.
The becoming.

You hide in plain sight.

Star of your own orbit
yet shadowed by your own light.

You hold the phone
as if it is power.

But you are the power.

The lens tries to define you.

It cannot.

Because even when you turn your face away
you cannot dim what you are.

You are not what the camera captures.

You are what it struggles to contain.

And whether you reveal yourself
or retreat into gloss and glamour—

I see you.

Not the influencer.

But the influenced.

Not the gloss and polish.

But the growth and gravity.

When you claim that stage,
the world will see the woman I always knew you would be.