(A single spotlight. The character stands center stage, still. A long pause before they speak—measured, deliberate. Their voice is quiet at first, but unwavering.)

You may judge me.
Go on.
But not by the fluency of my tongue,
nor by the grandeur of my declarations.

Look deeper.
Past the syllables.
Past the syntax.
Into the quiet spaces—
those trembling silences where my truth hides,
barefoot and unadorned.

There.
There you’ll find it.
The unspoken honesty.
Not wrapped in ribbons.
Not polished for applause.
Just… offered.
Freely.
Without barter.
Without compromise.

Honesty—
it isn’t a currency.
It isn’t something to be traded,
or haggled over like fruit in a market.
It’s a gem.
A rare one.
Glowing in the dark,
when all the clever words have fled.

When eloquence falters—
and it will—
when the tongue trips,
and the voice cracks,
honesty remains.
Steadfast.
A quiet flame
guiding us through the labyrinth
of human connection.

(A pause. The character breathes in, as if gathering courage.)

So let my silence stutter.
Let my words stumble.
Let them fall, if they must.

In their imperfection
lives the beauty of authenticity.

I would rather stumble truthfully
than dance deceitfully.

And in this fragile dance of hearts—
where honesty waltzes with vulnerability—
I find myself.
My truest self.

(They place a hand over their chest, softly.)

So judge me, if you must.
But judge me by the beat of my heart.
By the rhythm of sincerity
that echoes through every pause,
every hesitation.

Let it be known—
my honesty is not negotiable.
It is not for sale.

It is a gift.
Freely given.
A treasure beyond measure.

(A final pause. The character looks out into the audience, eyes steady.)

And if you can hear it—
in the silence between my words—
then perhaps,
you’ve found your own honesty, too.

(Lights fade.)

©️Beatriz Esmer

PS: This monologue makes part of my book “Monologues” written in English and Portuguese. It will be published when I get in Brazil.