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Curious...?





























































































































































































































































































Nothing of interest, I promise.




















































































































































































































































































































































































































Unless you're interested in a depressed man's poems.










































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































Sure, help yourself.

































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































I know I said poems, but if not poems, just rants, sad stories, thoughts, depressive moments that I like to recall. It's my way of expression. if you need a trigger warning, then I guess here's some: Grooming, Homophobia, Sexism, Depression.

































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































I had a good handful of audios from my groomer that were sexual. they talked about "how sexy I looked" or "what {they} wanted to do with me", they were audios that when I listen back, I can never feel anything but aroused.

I know how wrong they are, especially coming from a person that has done a lot of harm to me, but I still love listening back to them, they bring a weird serenity and feeling of control. which is a bit ironic isn't it? having a feeling of control over a situation where I had no control emotionally or physically. Looking back, I have a weird comfort toward that past, those moments where a person who I thought loved me was giving me so much attention and so much affection, affection that I fantasized over day to day, it's a weird affection that I so wrongly miss to this day.

I want to be sexualized by them, I want them to know that i still touch myself to the thought of what they did to me, even after all these years where I've drawn them as an enemy. it's weird, the more I think about it, the more I hate myself for feeling nostalgic about it, I want them to harm me again, I want them to tell me how sexy I looked in my outfit today or what they wanted to do with me. I miss being loved, even if it was loved in such a toxic way.




















































































































































































































































































































































































































I wish I was a girl,

I wish I was born feminine enough to be pretty like a girl. I am only masculine because I wouldn't look good if I was feminine, which is ironic because I am in fact a feminine man. I have my own way of portraying myself, but femininity is so freeing and reassuring of who I am as a person. I'm not one of those faggots who wants to be a girl, I am a faggot who wishes they were a girl. it's weird, I could care less of what people say about my thoughts or my personality, but when it comes to something like this, it always confuses me. I don't want to transition, I just wish to be a girl. It's weird. I know what girls go through and the looks they get, I know the struggles and the pain girls go through, it's hard to be a woman, but those hardships would be worth it if I was a girl, because I would be who I am now, but more of myself. It's weird. It's self hatred, I hate myself so much that I wish I was something I can never be. Sure I can become trans, but it will never be a real deal, I will never relate to a woman's problems or relatability, I would be a fraud. Like I said, I hate myself too much to recognize how unhappy these thoughts make me, these thoughts of how much happier I'd be if I was a girl. it's weird. Would I be curvy? would I be chubby? would I be creepy? would I be funny? would I be sexualized? would I be laughed at? what kind of woman would I be? what kind of man am I? why do I care so much about this, it's not like anything would change, not even the weird looks. it's weird. it's lonely when someone understands you too well, or when someone doesn't know you enough, it's strange that people have felt like me and they go out there and be happy, so why can't I? it's because I'm afraid, not of what my family would think, not of what my friends would think, but because of what I would think. Would I hate myself? will my depression take over more than it has? would my self control become destructive? would I be... happier? it's weird. really fucking weird...






























































































































































































































































































































































This post is an exposeé about me and who I am.

I am a porn addict, a lazy, depressed college dropout who has given up in life and made it everyone else's problem. I have become a person who hates the world and hates himself, a person who is nothing but a self destructive and inconsiderate douchebag who does nothing but complain and depress himself. I have lost some of my favorite people in the span of a year because of my awful personality. I have made people uncomfortable with my way of looking at life and my depressing opinions. I have made girls weirded out and distant from me because of shit that I have subconsciously acted, said, felt and expressed. I've attempted suicide four times in the span of a year for first world privileged nonsense. I have made irresponsible and irreversible damage to my body, soul, relationships with people, my mind, my presence, my architecture. I am a sex object to every woman I've ever attempted to talk to romantically. I have mommy issues that I ignite with women that I interact with, being afraid of abandonment and separation, begging and almost fighting for their attention. I have insecurities that have projected my destructive nature of pornography addiction, laziness, suicidal depression, apathy, seeking approval, offensiveness. I've become so addicted to the social beckoning of acceptance from the world that I forgot about why I hate being alone.

I'm imperfect, and this imperfection has led to my demise. I have no purpose other than "getting money to live out the rest of your life," "I only have online friends," "I don't have any hobbies, I just play videogames and masturbate." Who have I become? I've become the person that I told myself I would never become: A lost soul. A purposeless, lazy, addicted, depressed, yes-sir, avoidant personality with nothing to offer but a thumbs down and a frown face. I have lost the charm that made me unique, I lost the people who cared enough to talk to me, I lost myself in the pit of darkness I feared being stuck in. I have become the person the world would tell me not to become. I have become the person my family told me to not become. I have become the person I told myself I'd never become.


















































































































































































































































































































































































































I was raised with the mentality of men cannot be feminine and women cannot be masculine, they are polar opposites and not something assigned by choice, but rather by force with the gender we were assigned to at birth. I tried to do all of the things that my friends would do, but it never captivated me as something I liked, but rather HAD to like because I'm a boy. I didn't like WWE, I didn't like cars or racing, I didn't like being called a faggot when I wanted to buy a matching wrist warmer for me and my best friend. I liked drawing, I was a creative kid, I liked building worlds and making them into what I thought was cool.

Things that I was told were "feminine" were things that I loved and was passionate about growing up. Don't get me wrong, I like being a man and I find being masculine fun! but at the same time, the things people consider feminine are things I've been told to suppress or things that "I'll get over." So, what if this femininity isn't something I'll get over? I've started to enjoy things that girls do, lady culture, their humor, their ideas, their emotions, their interests, things that I would otherwise -- and ironically -- love.

Masculinity ≠ Feminity, but that doesn't mean Masculinity + Femininity ≠ Me. What if I don't have to choose? what if I want to be both? what if I don't want to choose a side? what if I genuinely can't choose on what I want to be?

























































































































































































































































































































































hace 15 años, una niñita nació, como todos ustedes saben, esta niña es mi hermana, y su nombre es -------------. Cuando era pequeña, siempre quiso ser una princesa, miraba las películas de las princesas de Disney todo el día, actuando como una princesa, cantando como una princesa, hablando como una princesa, soñando con ser una princesa, pero para mí, siempre fue una changa, porqué? porque parecía changa! si ustedes conocían a ----- cuando era pequeña, a ella le encantaba treparse en las cosas, brincaba cuando se emocionaba, y pues literalmente parecía changa! asi que pues así le llamé por mucho tiempo.

después de cierto tiempo, dejo de ser princesa, poco a poco sus amigas cambiaron, y pues como ella quería ser como ellas, sacrificó su cosa favorita: ser una princesa. Empezó a cambiar su forma de ser, su forma de vestir, expresar, hablar, poco a poco dejando la princesa, que una vez quiso ser; mucha gente le decía que estaba fea, flaca, le decían prieta, hasta le hacían bullying por su cabello chino, al punto que se lo quiso planchar... poco a poco ----- dejó de ser princesa, dejó de usar vestidos, dejó de actuar como una princesa, cantar como una princesa, hablar como una princesa, soñar con ser una princesa, y aún así, para mí, seguía siendo una changa.

nunca pensé que mi vida cambiaría por completo al conocer a esa changa, tan alegre, tan llena de energía, aunque todos estuvieran desanimados, ella encontraba la forma de animarnos, una niña sin igual. Yo y esta changa hemos llorado, reído, peleado; hemos hecho tantas cosas juntos, para ella su vida entera, y para mí, solo 15 años de mi vida.

amo a esta changa, la changa con la que he jugado videojuegos, la changa a la cuando se caía, he ayudado a levantarse, la changa a la que vi crecer poco a poco, la changa que me hizo reír, la changa que me dio ganas de ahorcarla, la changa a la que un día quiso ser una princesa. Lo que no sabe, es que esta changa se volvió una princesa, tras abuso verbal de todas las ninas celosas de ella, tras burla y burla, ella termino siendo princesa, porque ella lucho por estar en ese vestido, ella lucho para sobrepasar todas las burlas, y ella lucho para poder ser vista en ese vestido que hoy tiene puesto.

el día que se puso este vestido para presumirnos a todos, fue el día que cambio de ser mi changa, a ser mi princesa, la princesa más hermosa de todo cuento de hadas, el único detalle es que ella no es de un cuento de hadas, ella es basada en hechos reales. Gracias por hacer a tu hermano feliz, y gracias por tantas memorias, tantas emociones, y tantas peleas.

Con amor, el hermano mas guapo,
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I can't cry, I'll be weak
I can't tell, they'll start asking
I can't show them the reality, because I'm too scared
I can't dance, and that's what I want.

I hide it in a smile to show a gay emotion,
I'm hiding more and more to a closet,
i don't plan on coming out soon,
I'm too scared to show them that I can't dance.

i stay wake thinking about someone,
i listen to music while rivers flow out,
they can't cry, they're perfect,
I can cry, but i can't dance, they can dance.

I stand in the living room,
i try, i dance, i can't,
my feet start hurting, I've never done it right
my feet start hurting, because I can't dance.

they may think I'm the best,
they may think I got the most,
they will think I'm capable of everything,
they don't know that I can't dance.

I hate it, i can't dance
they know it, they never teach me
they laugh, they laugh, until they cry
they laugh because I can't dance.

I'm incapable, I'm weak, I'm dumb,
you're a stereotype, you're a mess, you're a wreckage,
He's big and strong, manly enough, they say,
but I only truly wanted to dance.

get as high as the sky, cry because I'm excited,
say my prayers, because I was taught well,
make the belt tight enough, kick down my supporters,
finally, I'm dancing, I'm dancing in the air.

It feels scary, but it's okay,
it's never been easy,
but that's the fun of dancing,
you don't have to know how to do it,

you just do it.









































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































there's nothing else here for you. Truly.