the audition
are we ever really not performing- or is life a perpetual stage?
another one tumbled
another hope
collapsed quietly under its own weight
yesterday
I slipped out of the usual version of my life—
the one where I carry too much alone
and found myself
for a moment
in something softer
I spoke aloud the shape of my energy
how it shifts
leans masculine
though my body rearranges itself
some days more femme
some days more androgynous
the switch, I called it
they leaned in—
not with fascination
not with confusion
but with something gentler
something like understanding
I’m used to reactions
like I’ve just said something mythical
but with them
it wasn’t strange
it just was
and they didn’t flinch
we shared pieces
of realizing our queerness early on
of being made strange too soon
I said being nonbinary
feels like having the premium subscription to being queer—
and even then,
still being left out of the group chat
but they got it
and maybe more than me
they were further along in living it out loud
and I loved that
it felt like peering into a world
where I could just exist
and not be an exception
our stories weren’t identical
but they ran parallel
our moms both carried
a masculine kind of care
they called theirs butch
and I lit up
because no one ever says that
out loud
especially not about their mother
and mine—
well, she never boxed me in
because she was still trying to climb out of her own
we even talked about the future
kids, maybe
not a sure yes
but not a no
just that soft maybe
I know so well
when care feels easy,
I try to stay in it
just a little longer
because it always leaves too soon
they asked me out
within the first two days of us connecting
offered to pick me up
and when I said I’d meet them at their car
they came all the way to the entrance
a small thing
but it meant more than I wanted to admit
the first installation
was heavy with smoke
commenting on ICE raids
the air burned like grief
they ran into friends
called me their friend
and something in me paused
because we’d matched
and I didn’t know if I was being
folded into their life
or blurred out of it
next time,
they just said my name
and that felt better
still unclear
but less like erasure
we moved through another space—
this one colder, crisper
full of glowing screens and curated nostalgia
they said I’d like it
and I did
the people were kind
I even hugged one of them goodbye
and when I thought that would be it
they asked if I was hungry
(which I was, deeply)
they chose the place
because I said I hate choosing
and they didn’t mind
we laughed
and they coughed through it
I liked their laugh
how it cracked open something in the room
I would’ve stayed longer
but I’d promised my roommate
and I keep promises when I can
on the way back
I said the thing I always say
and always mean:
let me know if you ever want to hang again
no one ever does
and I’ve trained myself not to take it personally
but still
the sting stays
I walked back into my apartment
into tension I didn’t cause
my mother—
who was only supposed to stay one night—
slammed the grocery cart into the laundry door
left a dent
never said sorry
just said
she does everything
and we don’t appreciate it
I told her
if it’s that much of a burden,
why say yes?
why act like care
is currency we’re stealing?
she had no answer
just the same lines
I’ve heard my whole life
she’s helped me, sure
but I thought
maybe
on the days when getting out of bed
feels like climbing a mountain
I could ask for help
without owing a piece of myself in return
but now I know
support from her has strings
invisible ones
that tangle and tighten later
so in love
I look for someone
who offers care
not out of duty
but because it brings them joy
romance, to me,
is still mostly myth
I’ve never had the full scene
the one where you light up
just because they’re there
where you learn how they see the world
and they want to know how you see it too
so I look for care
in small actions
not just words
I need to see it first
before I give all of me
because I know how much I give
and I’m tired of offering it into silence
so I texted them
the next day
because they were still in my head
left on delivered
of course
i went looking for the why
so,
their exes appeared
scrolled through their past
they have a type
girls who could be my primas
dark eyes, wavy strands, similar skin
and suddenly
it felt like I didn’t matter
like I’d been cast in a role
that needed filling
and I just fit the silhouette that day
did they even hear what I said?
did I touch anything real?
this is what it’s like
when you don’t look like the default
when your existence
is not a box they’re used to unwrapping
you start to ask:
is this a fetish?
or do you actually
see me?
when will it be my turn to be embraced
and not someone turn the other way?
am i a fool to keep hoping?
only time will tell