Almost Me

I wear my smile like a sweatshirt.

Easy to pull on,

easy to hide in.

Grown-ups see it and nod,

like everything inside me

must be fine.

But my mirror knows better.

It catches the way my eyes

go flat when no one’s looking,

how I talk to myself in whispers

just to hear someone answer.

Secrets feel heavy in my pockets.

Heavy like rocks.

Some are tiny,

like the words I never say out loud.

Some are bigger,

like how I dream about running away

and starting over

where no one knows my name.

When I laugh with friends,

it’s real, mostly.

But there’s always a piece of me

standing off to the side,

watching...

wondering if they’d still like me

if I showed them the part

that stays quiet.

Sometimes I think the version of me

everyone believes in

is learning to live without me.

And I don’t know

if I’m supposed to stop her,

or let her go.