Confessions Series

Confessions of Camila Cabello's Glass Closet

I shouldn't even be here talking to you guys.

People know about me, but they don't talk about me. I'm literally a dirty little secret that people like to talk about behind closed doors, and yet, they don't have the balls to acknowledge in public.

Do you know what a miserable life I live?

I exist, and yet, I don't exist.

It's like global warming. You feel it, you sense it's true, you've read stuff about it, but a lot of people still deny it.

I'm a fucking elegant closet. A beautiful, special one made of glass -- do you know how glamorous I could potentially be if only people would make use of me properly?

Oh, why am I here?

Because I'm sick and tired of hiding. I know I hide things, but why should I hide myself? I know I should keep things a secret, but why shouldn't I tell my story?

Someones, Thems, People, and Somebodys... I'm Camila Cabello's Glass Closet, and I'm here to bare it all.

It's true, Camila is a messy ass bitch. She likes to stuff me with her little bows, and guitars, and crop tops, banana suits, and her pink dildo. One thing that she doesn't throw away are these clothing she likes to call merch. And it's annoying because I'm like literally too full to accommodate anything else -- I mean, her "big secret" alone already takes majority of the space inside, and yet she still has the nerve to feed me with more trash she doesn't even wear anymore?

Like what the fuck man?

But I do love this girl, I really really do. She's sweet and sensitive, she's polite and nice, but dammit I'm only a closet, like I have boundaries and limits! I can't take it all!

See, aside from her clutter of stuff she shoves inside me, she also likes to spend a whole lotta time locked up inside me. I don't know why but whenever she does something that isn't following the straight line her team drew for her, I hear everybody around her say, "Go to your closet! And no more Tumblr for you, that site is turning you gay!"

And so she crawls inside me, scribbling messy notes on her diary which I took a peek into one fine day and saw that half of it was about someone called Lern Jergi. I asked her about it, but she's quick to cut a closet off so I shut my mouth. From then on, I never saw that name again. Instead, she started using "The Boy" or like "Latin Boy".

But as much as she likes it inside, I do feel a sense of restlessness from her. A vibrating energy emanating from her (except for that one time when I was woken up by a steady vibration and I see her hidden behind her big leopard print coat doing something with her pink dildo. She told me it was a massager, so she must have had sore muscles from all the dance rehearsals she did that day, so I let her do whatever she wanted to do. Although I did note that she was focused on massaging one particular spot only, which is weird. Like what kind of a choreography does she have that only that spot gets strained? I would have asked her, but then she started groaning and I was afraid she's in pain and I didn't wanna add more to her stress, so I simply shut my glassy mouth and watched her finish rubbing the massager in between her legs. I swear she has repeatedly put it inside too but I can't be too sure because she's covered up with this cow print blanket -- no, wait, it's a zebra print -- I have glass eyes, guys, sorry).

Anyways, as I was saying, most days I feel that she's growing restless locked up inside me, like she's begging to come out, and so I suggested that if she wanted to break free then she could do it.

After all, it's not like she'd be the first one to come out of a glass closet.

Let me tell you about my one great love.