Halfway Out My Skin

Inhale.

Exhale.

What I inherit—

isn’t breath,

but weight.

How good you feel…

yet how damaging you are.

Or maybe—

it’s me.

Confused.

Unsure how to run

from something

I’ve been told to embrace.

It’s not the performance I chase.

It’s the number.

A record carved deep

by my brothers,

my cousins,

my uncles…

and even my father.

One look—

and they say I look just like you.

“Boy oh boy—”

as if my inheritance

could only mean trouble.

Oh—by the way,

I read the Bible yesterday.

Prayed too.

Even texted the girl I like,

telling her how excited I was

for the weekend.

But I forgot—

I’m supposed to be performing.

And the care in me weakens

by the minute.

Interest peaking

when her last piece of clothing

hits the floor.

I’m not a bad guy.

Just a boy with too many options.

Stitched together from echoes

that never asked

to be mine.

This is how it is, right?

Conquer.

Conquer.

Conquer again.

I’m not a man

if my track record

can’t measure up

to high ego,

low standard men.

Am I wrong?

No way.

My friends keep saying

they wanna be like me.

The girls keep batting their eyes

like I’m the prize.

So I must be right.

And if not—

well, don’t feel bad now.

I’m already here.

The stories of this one

will bend in my defense,

proof for people

not worth my time.

But honestly—

I can’t tell the difference.

My body keeps the score

my father wrote.

Desire hums like inheritance—

a song I never meant to learn.

Still,

halfway out of my skin,

I whisper the lie:

I’m nothing like them.

And the echo—

quiet, relentless—

swears otherwise.