I practice vowels like prayer, Tongue to teeth, breath to air, A little lift, a little lace, A stranger’s rhythm on my face. The mirror takes my doubts and makes them neat, Teaches my fear to sound sweet. And the mirror learns to lie, So I can get through the night. If I look right, I feel safe— But I don’t feel right. I lace my boots like armor plate, I flirt with fate, I feed the bait, They want a flame, they want a fight, They want my body made of light. But in the quiet, when the glitter dries, I’m just a boy with borrowed eyes. And the mirror learns to lie, So we can get through the night. If we look right, we feel safe— But we don’t feel right. Don’t call me angel if you want my blood, Don’t call it love if it’s just applause. I’m not a costume you can praise away— I’m not a headline you can save. If I confess, will you turn and run? If I come clean, will you take the sun? Or will you stay when the mask is gone And I’m just… someone? And the mirror learns to lie… But I’m learning to survive. One honest breath at a time.
