you don’t truly know me.
because if you did,
that facade that i put up everyday would disappear.
you don’t like me,
you like the idea of me.
you like the projection that i put out.
if you were to truly know me,
you would know all the struggles i went through
and how broken and sad i feel a lot of the time.
you would know the lowness that i feel in my head everyday,
that i thought was normal until they told me it was Depression.
you would know that everyday,
thoughts of death cross my mind.
thoughts that say,
“maybe my life will never get better.
maybe this is it.
maybe i am destined to be this way.
how would people feel if i was gone?”
you would know that i struggle to get out
of the comfort of my sheets everyday,
and just end up laying there until i feel like dirt.
you would know that somedays i don’t brush my teeth,
wash my face,
or brush my hair because it feels too much to accomplish
and too much of a hefty weight.
you would know that i am not perfect,
and as much as you say that i am,
it doesn’t matter,
the perfect version is the one you fell in love with.
you fell in love with the person that could give you
everything you ever wanted,
not the person in front of you.
you didn’t fall in love with my thoughts,
my depression,
or the fact that my nihilism about humanity
isn’t a well thought out existential philosophy,
but a manifestation of grief.
you fell in love with my charm,
you fell in love with my confidence,
but not the fact that i hate myself for being gay,
and wish i could just be accepted by all.
wish that i could hold another man’s hand in public,
without my brain flooding me with thoughts
about how people probably perceive me.
i remember that night you held my hand
and i pulled away.
i think about it often.
you told me that i was everything you ever dreamed of.
the perfect partner.
the perfect man.
i smiled in your face,
and cried back in my dorm.
you were just another person who didn’t see me for who i was,
And how could i blame you?
i never told you.