breaking through

Hi.

If you're listening to this...

I don't even know who this is.

Maybe the algorithm just tossed it into the void.

(sigh) It's 2:14 AM.

The house is too quiet,

and my head is too loud.

You ever feel like a ghost around people who share your last

name?

Like if you walked out,

nobody would notice till noon.

I live in my headphones.

Watching dance practice videos on my phone screen.

Their arms hit every beat so clean,

so light,

so seen.

I want to be an idol so bad it hurts right here

in my chest. (exhale) Not for the lights.

Just to belong to a system where every motion has purpose.

Where someone looks right at you

and actually sees you.

And then I walk past the full-length mirror on my door.

I hate my legs.

I hate my arms.

Trapped in proportions that don't fit the picture in my head.

It's like carrying around a heavy coat three sizes too small.

And downstairs,

my family is polite and miles away.

They look at me like an unfinished draft they wish turned out

normal.

When your anchor doesn't hold you,

you just drift.

Some days I wake up and 'girl' fits fine.

It's loose.

Other days it feels like a stiff itchy wool sweater pulled over

my head.

Not a boy either.

Just...

shifting in the middle.

Gender-fluid,

or maybe just exhausted.

How do you audition when they only want neat little boxes?

Boy group,

girl group,

pretty visual.

Where do you put someone who feels like shifting smoke?

No neat morals tonight.

Audition tape is still sitting in drafts,

untouched.

If you're out there listening in the dark

and you feel invisible too...

I see you.

Even if we're just static on the line.

Goodnight. (annyeong)