The Invisible Gay Boy Diaries

  Hey there, Stranger.  i shouldn’t be writing this. the hour’s too late,  3.25 the sky’s too tired. but here i am, bleeding in ink again. you always come back when i am almost better — when my hands are finally steady, when my plate is finally full. you watch. you wait. then you tip it all over, laughing at the wreck you leave behind. it’s sick, how much i missed you. how i crave the high no one else can name, the kind of rush they preach against but never understand. it’s not about more, not about less— it’s about tighter. smaller. sharper. a kind of disappearing that feels like power. i know it’s wrong. i know it’s a trick. i know every surrender pulls me closer to a kind of grave that looks a lot like a mirror. but you whisper to me: you are strong enough to vanish. you are brave enough to stay hungry. and god, some nights, that sounds like love. and some nights, my god,  my thighs in the moon light,  that looks like love. the only freedom i ever felt was ...

 Hey there, Stranger to the boy who aches in silence, but only when no one’s looking— i hope you know what you lost. i hope it haunts you, in the back of your throat when you’re laughing too loud, in the fake love you chase at parties, in the arms of people you’ll never actually love. i hope you feel it when you roll over in beds that still feel cold, even when they’re full. i watched you. god, i watched you. i watched you let the world hand you a script where love was easy, obvious, expected— and you swallowed it like it was your birthright. while i sat in the back row, rewriting mine in invisible ink, teaching myself how to survive on scraps. you got fairy tales handed to you. i got warnings. you got parades. i got closets. you got to love out loud. i got told to shrink, to hide, to survive. and maybe you didn’t notice. maybe you were too busy being adored to see the way i cracked open my own ribs, the way i stitched my heart into a language you were never brave enough to even tr...