the next secret i don’t dare say out loud:
sometimes i see a woman
and wonder if i’ve been wrong all along.

i love him, i do,
but then why does she make me question everything?

maybe it’s nothing.
maybe it’s everything.
i don’t know.
i don’t know.

I don't want to die
I just need something to make me feel alive.

a secret im too scared to share with anyone
except random strangers on the internet:
i wish i had an eating disorder.
i would be sad
but at least i’d be skinny.

im sorry.
i really am.

i don’t know what i’m supposed to do
with a body that doesn’t feel like mine,
always too much, always too little,
but never just right.

i cut away pieces of myself
yet i’m still too much.
it feels wrong, always wrong.
i look and see nothing but flaws
clinging to my skin like it’s suffocating,
i hate it for just existing.

i look at my reflection and feel disgusting,
a canvas of mistakes
that i can’t seem to wipe away,
no matter how hard i try.

i don’t write about it.
the music, the endless rehearsals,
the way the saxophone feels in my hands
like it’s breathing with me.
i don’t write about the late nights,
the competitions, the friendships forged
in the chaos of scales and solos.
instead, i let it live in the spaces
between my words,
where the sound lingers,
but i never let it spill onto the page.

maybe it’s because i’m scared.
scared i’ll sound like a nerd,
or that you will underestimate my potential,
or maybe that the music i love
will turn into something
i have to explain.
so i leave it unspoken,
a quiet symphony only i hear,
never written,
never shared.

i think i’m over it now.
not because i’ve stopped missing you,
but because i’ve learned how to carry it,
how to let the weight settle without sinking.

you are still there, in my dark, lonely moments,
in the way i am forever changed,
in the way i almost reach for my phone
before remembering there’s nothing left to say.

maybe i’ll always miss you,
but i think i can live with that.

this is really hard to talk about.

i think there’s something
wrong
with me.

i’m afraid to be intimate with him.

the smell of his cologne
makes me
nauseous
because it reminds me
of things i’m ashamed of.  

most of my
innocence
is still intact.

but that doesn’t mean
that one day i won’t be
strong
enough to say
no.

but i love him.