ErectionI just want to get something clear,so please, just be quitejust listen with your ears.I'm not some sort of pervertwho gets hard when I see you.It's just something I can't control...you don't understand, do you?I know what it looks like, when I cross me legs,when I shift in my seat,whenever you happen to walk in.And to be honest, let me get this straight, it's notbecause I like you.It's just sometimes happens,and no, it's not always around you.Sometimes it's embarrassing, and I feel ashamed,when I'm in public, or in class,when it happens, they call me all sorts of names.“Look at him, that pig, he only wants sex,”a girl hisses to her friends, as she brushespast my desk.And I hate it I hate it when I wake up in the morning,only to find out that the sheets are wetaround me.My dreams are like nightmares coming to get me,behind close lids,it's as if malicious demons slip in between the sheetswith me.And there are times I really, really need to peebut m
Self-PhobicI hate what I am, what I've become,when I look at my body,I'm repulsed by what I've done.I want to dig my nails intomy lush breast.I want to tear these organsoff of my chest.To rip my hair out, to go bald,to reach into my throat,to pull out these hormonesuntil their all gone.I'd scream and I'd scream,but I don't know if I can.For when I scream in frustration,I don't sound like a man.In the mirror, I'm met with curvy breast,with wide hips, and red lips.And deep down inside,that's not who I am .They told me I'd be happy,I'd be joyous and free,but I was the idiotfor thinking that they knew me.And I’m not the only one,there's more than a few.The same thing happenedto a boy I knew.When we stepped out of the operation,he had his head in his hands.It was supposed to be happy occasion,but only, it wasn't.“I made a mistake” He said in a whisper,patting the chair beside him,as he caught his listener.“Am I transphobic for hating what I
EpidemicI suppose it's in the air,like some sort of fluthat won't go awaythat sinks itself in even our hair.I wonder if they were transgender,if you would suddenly care.Most likely yes, you'd bend aknee for transgenders everywhere.And if they were women, Oh my!Such dainty little queens,for them, you'd certainly bendtwo knightly knees.And when you don't bend enough,when you don't bow downto their egotistic crowns,they'll give you a tongue lashinguntil you're a sobbing on the ground.Bossy aren't they? But don't say it aloud,for the greatest accomplishmentsof feminism, is banning “bossy”all around.But their epidemic is stupidity,and cannot be cured,so let's focus on something more important than the above.This epidemic is a “culture of death”,a way out for the “XX” chromosome,who wallow in depression.I found it terrifying at first,that no one seemed to care,that an entire sex was killing themselves,without a moment to spare.
Prepare for a FuneralCome and stand in the stall with me,lean in closer, so perhaps you'll see.There's nothing pretty about it,nothing beautiful at all,if anything, it makes you uglierthan you were before.Breakfast becomes stale salivacaked in your tongue,deep in the craters, soyou'll remember what you've done.It taste like two fingers proddingat the back of your throat,every night and morning.Like light headedness with every steptaken. With every breath breathed,dryness plagues your every breath.It feels like selfishness every so often,when your family forks out moneyfor the doctors office. First it'smalnutrition, and an expensive prescription.And when you throw it up to get yourselfthinner,keep in mind that you're not the family'sbread winner.It feels like depression that slowly takes hold,like visits to a psychologistbecause you refuse to be toldhow to eat, how to live, how to be you,and while you're whisked away in your asylum,you're family is drowning in dept a
What if I Wasn'tInside, I might be made of broken butterfliesAnd the tiny shattered pieces of glassThat you forgot to throw awayAnd I'm screaming for something I buried in the garden, Dirty and covered with rust,It's coming through I'm not supposed to live like thisMaybe I could be the giggle at a funeral, If I had the space to breathe,And let myself fade out, blend in,But it's only one sided, and I Wasn't ready for this.I don't want to live In a dying world like this oneBut I'm sickI'm tired of waiting for another, That might not be what I wantWhat you don't know can't kill you, But I know- that's not the truth And I sometimes wish There was nothing I am held down, I am free
She's Supposed to Like BoysI have a boyfriend, he's kind to me.We love each other, we're already doing things.I want to marry him, at least that's what I think.We can grow up, have kids, and live happily.He's my mother's co-worker's son,she introduced us last fall.I really didn't have a choice,I wanted to please her, that's all.But even when he kisses me,I don't really feel anything.When we have sex,I feel incredibly empty.Is it a sin to say that I don't like dicks,is it a crime to say that I like breast instead?Does my mother's happiness matter more than my own,am I truly destined to marry a boy, and live a life I want nothing from?When I look at girls and my heart flutters in my chest,should I hold my breath, should those feelings I suppress?Can I chose to be straight? Do I dare break societies norm?Is it wrong for me to yearn to be with the gender I love.But there's a ring on my finger, and I can't disappoint,my mother wants this more than anything, so I’ll kiss the boy.Though my h
BulimiaShove your finger down your throatWatch yourself explodeAs your insides turn against youAnd come outWatch them splatter in the sinkAs your own guilt weighs upon youBegs you to stopBut you ignore it's pleadsYou're in too far to quit nowYou've worked too hard to quit nowYou're too close to being beautiful to quit nowThis is the closest you have ever beenYou can almost feel the victory within youSoon others will finally see you,Will finally know that you exist,Will finally have to accept you as you areBut little do you knowThat the finger that you useIs the trigger to the gunThat ends you life