I Didn’t Want You to Know Like This

I practiced

in

mirrors

words I never said

aloud.

Not because I

was ashamed

but

because

you were.

*

Or I

thought

you might be.

Maybe.

You never said,

but

the signs were

there.

*

Like

the time

when you were

folding laundry, I

reached for the

pink

towel instead of the

blue.

Your hand stopped

mid-fold.

*

And

when I silently

cried

at that movie

where the boy ran

away from home

and you said,

“he’s too soft

anyway,” like

sensitivity was a

sin.

*

I kept thinking

maybe

if I

said it

just right,

you’d stay

quiet.

*

Not

scream at

me.

Not

be angry.

Not

be disappointed.

Just quiet.

Uncruel.

*

But I

didn’t know

how to say it

without

breaking your face.

*

So, I

swallowed it.

Year after

year, unchanged,

not myself,

until I started to

choke.

*

And

here I am

now,

thirty-something,

being my

authentic self

in a body

that should’ve been mine

from the start.

And I

wear love like a

second skin,

no longer

feeling like I

need to hide.

*

You don’t

know

her name.

Or that

she

smells like jasmine

and

says my name

like

a prayer.

You don’t

know

that I

call her home.

*

Maybe, someday

you’ll read this

or

maybe you

won’t.

*

Maybe

this is how I

tell you.

Even if

you may not

see it.

Not with

a voice,

just paper.

*

Because

even now, I

don’t know

what your silence

would be like.

In case anyone is wondering or is making assumptions based on the poem, I'm cisgender and bisexual, not transgender and lesbian. I just...felt like a poem like this needed to exist. The struggle for acceptance is real; I see you. Love you all. <3