Things I Don't Say Out Loud

Things I Don’t Say Out Loud

I tell people I'm tired.
That’s true—
but not the whole thing.
What I don’t say is:
I feel like a glitch in the code.
Like everyone else got the manual
and I just make do
with guesses.

Some days,
I put on eyeliner like armor
and hope no one sees the war inside.

I scroll past faces
and think,
“She's what I’m supposed to be,”
then hate myself
for thinking it.

I rehearse being “okay”
in the shower,
like maybe if I say it
with enough conviction,
my skin will believe it.

"Am I enough?"
—what a pathetic little prayer.
But it lives in my chest
like a trapped bird,
always fluttering
just under the surface.

And still, I laugh.
Loudly.
People say I’m funny.
(I’m good at deflection.
I should get a trophy for it.)

If I ever said all of this out loud,
I’m not sure
who would stay
or who would run.

Maybe I would run too.