About A Boy

It has been 4 years. 4 very long years that my emotional wounds have healed over and been taken care of. I lost my nephew and never got to say goodbye. He was told that we were evil, menaces, and horrible people. That will always be his very last thought till he becomes an old man and we can do nothing about it. And I have accepted this.

But there are the memories that still manage to linger. I practically raised the boy. He was like my son, and we had these little things that when I listen to a certain song, see a small blue eyed blonde boy laughing in the grocery store, they all manage to crack my strength.

And last year when we managed to run into him and his mother, I managed to hold in the blow to my heart. It had felt like some darkness pulled my heart out and threw me around like a rag doll. And his aged face, now about 8, was so beautiful. But his eyes had lost his light. He was heavily medicated, staring into space, like he didn't know who we were. His pale hand was tightly holding onto his fathers. And his father told him to say hello, and when that boy looked at me I saw an empty soul. They had corrupted his bright bubbly personality into a shell. And he was just a boy.

And when they left I broke. I stood in the middle of the crowded theater hall, fell to the floor and I began to cry so hard. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't see. All I could feel was my heart being torn into pieces. This wasn't my lover telling me it was over, this wasn't losing my best friend. Those feelings seemed so easy compared to this. I had grown so strong thinking of the memories of this boy, and seeing the reality just broke my entire mind. I had to be picked up by Uncle and dragged to the bathroom. And I fell against his chest and just screamed.

It was the absolute worst feeling. And I suddenly knew the pain of a parent losing her child. Why they never talk about it, and yet hold onto their useless toys and old blankets like they have so much meaning. Because their smell eventually fades, as does their presence in your own heart. And you feel like you have an empty hole in your heart. And no matter how much your heart heals those wounds, their is still these jaded scars and they will never leave.

And all this comes from a song. One song I happen to be listening to that reminds me of this boy that made me feel like I was worth something. And I realize I am not stronger than the day he left. I am only dealing with it and realizing I will never fully regain my heart back.

That was taken so long ago. The day I stopped being able to hold that sweet boy in my arms at night is the night I lost my faith.

And I will never get it back.

Letting My Dreams Lead the Way

I had a dream last night, and it left me waking up groggy and full of anxiety.

I was marrying Channing Tatum(I don't even know why), and I was different. I was tall and skinny, like a super model. Long hair, blonde, and this idea of utter perfection. And yet I found myself looking at this dream and finding I had turned ugly. I didn't like the fact that I had no figure to look at.

We invited my family, and the children of my Uncles family, and the friends I used to have back before I moved out of town. The photographer asked me how I wanted the big wedding photo done, and I realized I hadn't made any plans. I did not have any brides maids or grooms men assigned and no one was even dressed fancy. It was chaotic.

So they all just started going into the bleacher and setting up, and the photographer just started handing out the kids these huge body pillows. And suddenly this big white projector screen was slid down at the top of the bleachers. A black and white video began of the children and they were playing together. The lights were dimmed..a light purple hue covered the room, and these blinking white stars filled the sky.

I stood there, watching this chaotic display and was awed by the beauty of this sleep over atmosphere. Like an outdoor movie night full of hundreds of people. This made me think that this is what weddings should be celebrated like. Full of joy, and not worrying about how fancy you look or how well you can impress a room with your smile, dancing, and all these factors that in the end, are meaningless.

And then I awoke. And I discovered I felt anxious. This dream ended like a fairy tale, and it was perfect. But yet I didn't like the outcome. I always have this idea that dreams tell me what my worries and undecisive thoughts obsess over. They give me answers that I can never fully realize alone. And this dream showed me things, that after thinking over, help me make those decisions with ease.

I was questioning my idea on marriage a lot recently. Because I enjoy weddings. They make me excited and I love the idea of dressing up and getting to eat food and socialize. But I do not want to get married. I relish my freedom, my queer life, and my beautiful body as it remains now.

And this big focus on kids really hit me. They were the main attraction on that big screen. And it made my heart melt to see all their smiles and their playful nature. I love kids. But I felt like the dream was saying my future meant having all these babies. But I don't want to have babies, and I certainly cherish my animals like they are my own much more.

So in ways this dream helped me settle the dispute within the thin walls of my brain. The decisions of doing what every one is expecting me to do versus what I really want to do is still a struggle right now. It is all if's and maybes and I have never really tried enough of what I think will make me happy to really know. Life is becoming one big giant "what if" and the only thing I can do is let my dreams tell me the way.

Hearts Beat As One

You ask me how it feels

to see the world in dark variation

where the bright blue sky makes me want cry

for it is too bright for my bitter heart

And I answer you

that there is no feeling

not like when you are layed down

under the stars gaze

and the scratches along your skin

are from my own bloody hands

You ask me why I need to see your tears

as they flow over your supple cheeks

and into your smiling mouth

because you know why

and I need only to lean down

to whisper, "Your mine"

You ask me what I want

as you flip me over

where the floor is cold from the night sky

and chills run up my body

And I answer you

that I want everything

and nothing

because you are an empty being

as empty as me

who craves something to ease the hatred

that oozes out of our words

to stain innocents hearts

And this

this is why I ask you

when I flip you back around

and I lean my grin close to your chest

and whisper, "Let me in"

Will you let me in?

So that I can dig deep inside whatever tomb lay hidden

beneath your skin and your bruises

to reach that inner roar you hold

Because my final question could never be spoken

for it is air itself that we breath

that answers it for us

And when my hands wrapped your neck

it was never meant for harm

but to show my deepest regret

because I am so ashamed to love you

Letters for Wounds

See me at my worst.
I am broken. A disaster.
There are days, I admit, that my hair gets a little greasy. I eat enough so that the idea that I'm a monster isn't real any longer. The 40 pounds I'd gained weren't to throw at you like it was your doing. I swear it.
The doctor said I have problems. He said I don't react well to problems, and the only way to fix that was to take some medicine. Little pills that are supposed to fix how I treat you.
My father told me I wasn't worth his sperm today. My mother seemed like a kind woman, and died one too, I'd like to hope. Everyone says I have her smile. I could never find out because every time I try to smile my teeth get in the way.
Remember when you cut your finger? I do. It was with that sharp knife used for some bread. It was too hard too cut anyway, so I don't blame you. You sure yell a lot when your pinky bleeds. Blood looks like the paint you gave me for christmas. Could I borrow your blood for one of my sketches one time? That would be the best present ever.
I'm supposed to see a doctor for more of these little pills. Their green, like the lakes you took me to feed the ducks once. The memory of it always helps me swallow it more. Like I'm swallowing some of you. One of the effects is supposed to be sleepiness. So far, all I do is lay in my bed thinking of you. Is that what sleepiness is? I sure don't like it. 

Rape Is Not Funny

So I came across this silly and very rude question today. Not many questions people ask offend me, but lets be honest, there are a lot of idiots in the world. A couple questions that come from mindless idiots are bound to rustle your feathers some day.

And today I got mine. The question this lady asked was,

"If you had to pick your rapist, who would you pick?"

Now, a few questions popped in my head. First, what in the hell was this person thinking? You don't ask who people would want to be raped by. That is very inconsiderate on a lot of levels. And this is coming from my biastophiliac mouth no less. No one chooses to be raped, nor is it something you treat as a light experience. It is traumatic and not to be used for any purpose to be silly whatsoever.

Another question that came to mind was that if you CHOOSE your rapist, then it would no longer be rape. Because you would be most likely choosing some one you find attractive. Therefore at that point it would be consentual role play. Which is completely healthy in any sexual relationships if its done right and they use a safe word correctly.

So I said this to the asker, and they basically told me that it would still be rape even if we chose and I was wrong. So this person is even bullying all the people who don't give the answers they like. Maybe they're trying to be a little out of the box, but this is way beyond even my moral hating mind.

I can talk about a lot of things. Some of it may seem cruel, and some of it may seem down right illegal. But I would never use any harmful event lke rape and turn it into a fun question.

Rape is a traumatic experience PERIOD. And there is no excuses for that kind of behavior.

Human Judgement and Animal Equality: An Experiment

Alright so I tested something today and I thought it was important enought to write about. Now I am a big animal activist. My ideals go way back to when we as humans were equal with the animal species and considered them respectable creatures.

So I thought that I'd ask a simple question on Experience Project. What I asked was this:

"Your in a burning building. There is a child to your left and a puppy on your right. You can only save one. Who?"

Now, before I even talk about the responses I got let me first say that in no way does my own decision mean the other is worthless. But, what I am actually trying to see is how my own opinion can some how bring out the judegement of others. This worked better than I thought it would really.

On this detail box, I said, "This was hard for me, but my gut says the puppy". I was being completely honest and in no way said the child was worthless and didn't DESERVE to be saved.

But, the responses I got were expected. Some said they'd die trying to save both. One said puppy, but they would try to save the child if they could. And the others, well the others said they would without a doubt save the child.

These answers are all respectable. In fact, every one is different. We all have different experiences and views and were not all going to agree. Nothing is a "normal" decision for all humans too choose. And some people in reading that I would save the puppy didn't take it well. In fact, went on to say things like:

"Fuck the dog, humans need to save their own kind. For you to pick a puppy over an innocent child. You need help."

First of all, both are very innocent. That was the point. To take away this idea of innocence and go to instinct of personal favoritism.  And this upset me, but didn't suprise me that of course some one would say the humans need to save their own. As if suggesting we were BETTER than animals. As an activist, I remain with the idea that we are EQUAL. All animals and humans deserve peace and a right to live. And humans in no way trump nature. I would even go to say in some cases nature trumps us more often. Because it gives us life and food and shelter. And we owe it some respect.

Now, I got a second answer saying this:

"I would not hesitate to save the child. It is natural for us to want to save our own."

I have a problem with this also. Saying something is natural is always false when it comes to opinion. Because that would be referring to something being "normal" meaning the average accepted decision of society. But we forget that society does not control our opinions. And I further said that whether or not I am right or wrong does not matter because we both have respectable opinions and we are, again, all different. And this person not only ignored my statement but said for me to go to hell and I probably support abortion as well. This person is exactly why I chose to do this.

The human race has become so civilized according to the expected morals and ideas of society that any differing opinion is seen as immoral and evil. And this produces all the hate and racism and anti-gay and any other judgement that we face now.

I did not mean to offend, nor did I say any thing in the purpose of offending. I simply wanted to see who would answer what. And I was disappointed with the narrow minded answers I got from some people.

My Family Battle with Gender

   Me and my Uncle fight often. Far too often for me not to take notice of the roots of our problems that I only seem to see. In another argument that me and him had today, it all started because I mentioned knowing a transman. Now, my uncle is quite conservative and traditional, and for him gender and sex are one of the same. I had just woken up, and wasn’t thinking right. So I just started off by saying he was a transman and he gets bullied a lot. And my uncle decided that instead of actually following what I was saying, to say, “Wait, is it a boy or a girl?”

   I replied to him saying he identified as a boy. And uncle got further confused. So I explained to him that sex and gender are two different concepts. Sex being what your born with and gender being a society norm for what we label with sex. And that gender is a wide spectrum, from cis to bigendered to genderqueer, etc. This only made him say that he already had a head ache. Yeah, obviously not the best way to prove he’s listening to me at all.

    His excuse was that he was raised thinking that boys have penises and girls have vaginas, and that I should consider my audience so he doesn’t have to ask. He further said that I shouldn’t assume he knows. Now, I wasn’t assuming anything. I had just woken up and wasn’t really considering whether I needed to explain it all at that moment. Not only am I getting lectured based on his views, but now also how I don’t “consider my audience”. I’m getting frustrated now.

   So he takes that and asks me, “If I meet some transsexual who identifies as something else in the work place, how would I know?”

   And right as I am about to answer, he cuts me off and says that how you talk to coworkers depends on their gender. And I immediately said, no it does not. It depends on the personality more than their sex organ. He agreed on that, but further said that him talking to a woman is different than talking to a man. He said because if he says. “Go fuck yourself!” to man, they don’t go to the boss, but he does that to a woman, and they would want him fired. (sexist, much?)

    And this is where I said, yes, but the simple solution would be to not say, go fuck yourself. That’s rude anyways. And he got made at me saying I wasn’t listening and forcing my own ideas on this. How the hell else do we have a conversation otherwise, agree with everything you say? Not going to happen. We are HUMAN, not robots who all think the same. And I then calmly made another point saying that I happen to be a woman and me talking to women at the workplace is different because you aren’t one and I am.

   He then said, “but I’m talking about men and woman only”.

   So I went ahead and said straight out that he was talking to me like he expected me to understand(which I did) that the work place is different than most social conversation AND that I had to agree with him on everything. And I further said that the work place or not, it is a social construct, like shopping or a party. The way we interact may be different but its social all the same. And social knowledge is something we develop as young as children.

   And this is what got me mad. He then said to me, “This is why I don’t talk to you about this. You starting spewing bullshit when we talk.” Hell no. Don’t tell me my ideas are BULLSHIT and your ideas are god damn genious. That is plain rude. I told him, I understood but the way he socializes and the way I socialize is completely different, therefore makes the socializing at work a completely different situation also.

At this point I was really upset he called my whole ideas on life, just cause their different, bullshit. And I walked away saying he was too arrogant.

   He replied back as I was walking away, “Because you know I’m right!”, like the hypocrite he can be.

I know the reason we fight is because my whole life view is based on a nonjudgemental, sociology point of view. It involves no moral standard or society view. Uncles is based on tradition and narrow view so he can generalize to make it easier. This makes it impossible under any circumstance for us to get along with out a big heated argument. I don’t mind disagreeing, but I do mind some one saying I don’t know anything because I haven’t worked before. Whether I worked before or not does not mean I’m wrong. It’s not about where you work, its about how the individual takes social situations.

   Uncle looks for infinite answers. And when it comes to greeting some one who is not cis(identifies with biological sex and has same gender to fit), there is no infinite answer. It all is a very fluid greet that you must ALWAYS take under caution. He doesn’t like the answer, fine. But for him to say I didn’t answer his question. That is false. I answered it. It is just not the way he wants me to answer, and that angers him more than anything.

Without Warning

Your words
They have bruised the outer edges of my heart
And I would love nothing more than to tattoo
These feelings of elation as the bruises become indented
Into skin and bone

Your neck
With its little hollow shadows
That make me want to grasp every inch of you
and lose myself in this experience

Could I kiss your cheek
and whisper sweet nothings
if it meant holding you
for another day?

This is becoming something so much more
than I ever hoped to have

And yet nothing has really been said
Other than these simple fantasies that spread
Like a flesh eating virus
Carving delicious wounds into my blood stream

The truth is seen right before me
And as I turn away
These mirrors make me see
That the truth is but a lie

For this fantasy I am seeing
is something so close to love
and lust
and I am losing my mind

But baby take my hand anyways
Like the ghost in my head has done 100 times
and tell me this is right

Because my will has dwindled to a mere penny
to be dropped in these dirty streets
And I need your love

Your soul is my weakness
and my happiness
A cure that will break and bend every crack in my feet
That leave me permanently stuck here

Waiting and saying nothing
But smiling all the same

Mother, May I?

You know, luv, I've always been one to stray
far from a closeness to the land I walk upon.

The grass made me itch and the sidewalks..
they were too dirty for my beat up shoes.

If you can live long enough to see
then we will find a way to some savior

But I've been cursed with this gift of hearing
everything that needs not be said

Because your eyes told me your waiting
To wake up to a life not able

Where dreams are the howling of wolves at midnight
and breathing is almost as simple as smiling

The world is waiting behind a silver dish
And were too afraid to lift it

No more the smell of morning dew a sweet scent
but a vain attempt at feeling anything but ourselves

Cause this courage we seek has run off to the hills
and hidden itself deep below our feet

For suddenly our years is just a number
that counts the time till the blood in our bodies run dry

And the blue of our eyes
turns a dull white glare upon itself

To grasp the grounds of hell
and whisper

"Welcome Home"

Responsiblility

When people look at me, they see my height. My weight. My frown. They think that I'm some young teen with the practice of typical angst against my "miserable life". But there is another side to me.

This side is the one far too mature because she had to be. Some one who has had to grow up too fast because thats simply what life gave her. And although my past has left me, there are some things that never left.

I am a parent of sorts. First to a child dropped at our door, and then taken away years later. And now to the very women who raised both that child, his mother, and me. This women looks old and sick, and can barely wake up an hour without taking 10 different pills to feel better. But she never used to be.

She was an independent women with a heart too loving for this world. And it ate her heart out till she needed an escape. First with alcohol, an addiction that grew till her own husband forced her to see the divorce papers he'd already signed. And then with shopping, a compulsive disease that left me a side line watcher and my uncle unaware for years. That is until her "hidden" credit cards all maxed and they had to file bankrupt. Then her depression finally hit her, and she was in car accidents and bruised up all the time, and whether it was truly her carelessness or she wanted to really end it will always be a mystery. And these accidents led to a simple sprain of her foot.

This sprain is this huge fall down. She quit her job as a succesful nurse and took pills to ease the pain. And the pain, she concluded, could also ease within her heart. And the psych medicine came in and then her diabetes medicine, and any excuse she could use to possibly get high off of something other than reality.

And now, years later, she's only 54 and looks like a withered old lady ready to die. I love her, because when I love you can do so many bad things and I will always respect you and give you all my heart. That will not change.

But when you give me the decision to be made where I have to take away my giving heart and become a cold hearted parent, then I will. It is BECAUSE I LOVE YOU, that I would risk your hatred to save your life.

So next time some one thinks I have done nothing, and my age and my permanent cynicism are my immaturity, I can never believe it.

Because today I had to make a decision, like I do most days. To risk my own future and my own time to be a "teen" and have fun while I can, to be a parent to a woman who raised me when I was a child. Because she gave me life, and I owe it to her to believe in her too.

And when she found the pills my Uncle hid from her that was was taking too much of today, I was right behind her. I saw her grab them and sit there and ponder what to do. And when I asked her if they were Aderal, the ones she promised she wouldn't take anymore, she said she'd take "only one". And she gave me a look that said she had power over me. And I had to look at her back, and hide the breaking of my heart to see her so desperate for medicine that fucked her up, and demand she give them to me.

Like a mother telling her teen child to give her the alcohol or the drugs they have hidden in the sock drawer. I may be only 17, and not much life experience, but I have had enough experience to understand that my life is not wasted. And my importance is that this woman, when she is clinging to pills she knows she's not supposed to take, is in my care. And I will do what I can to make sure she is alive and well.

I am not a waste. I have an importanc to behave and be very serious. Because if I even take one day to relax and have fun to be the teen I am, this woman could be again trying to steal pills from her own home and ready to die at any instance.

And that is my existence. I am here to help whomever needs it. And right now, the woman who raised me needs me. And I am willing to grow up and risk my own future if thats what she needs. Because I know she needs me. Because no matter what her family says, they would not risk their own lives to help her if she really needed it. Not like me or my Uncle would do, and certainly at the lengths me and him have gone through for her.

I may be young, but I am NOT a waste. I am not an idiot. And I am certainly not immature.

Especially when the pills in my hand are the ones I had to confinscate from the one women who raised me because that is my job. I may not get paid, but hell its more work than any job I could ever get paid for.

Try and judge me now. Just try me.

Becoming A Monster

I truly have this sickness. It tears me apart, and makes me feel like I am the monster they warn children about. It is an obsession of mine that I have tried and tried, till I'm on my knees and looking like death itself ate my heart right out, to walk away from.

It started when I was so young. These fantasies that would haunt me at night. They'd hover over my thoughts to the point that I was desperate to feel them out till they left my presence. I never knew what it meant, and I didn't know that the denial of its existence would make me become this desperate trash that I feel like tonight.

Tonight..it just went from something so minimal to something that made me want to not exist. To forget that I ever was alive on this planet, and simply be forgotten. Because I am a bad bug, a viral disease that should have never been planted in the hearts of the good.

I am almost ashamed to be speaking in such vague terms over what line I may have crossed tonight. If I even spoke of it in such detail that made some understanding I would be hated. Judged. And misinerpreted in the worst possible way.

I will say this..I am no monster by choice. I don't know why I am the way I am, and know nothing of why it started. But I am a biastophiliac. A sick fuck who gets theirs kicks off of others pain and tears and trauma.

I am willing to say that I am wrong. I will be condemned by the few who refuse to understand where I'm coming from, and I will openly accept responsibilty of this. And I know I need some help. I'm fucked up. My mind is a little tipsy, a little irregular. But right now I have nowhere to go and nowhere to turn to. I am alone right now.

And possibly the worst feeling for me is knowing that I am so terrified of myself and no one cares to see me. They don't want to help. Because they don't want to believe it, and it hurts the worst. To know I am this way and I can do nothing to stop it.

I just want to be saved. For gods sake, just punish me from this guilt. This extreme regret that is pulling me apart right now.

Limb by limb..piece by piece..

I am no longer holding myself right. I am just a monster.

A monster who deserves to be slayed in the worst possible way.

Sexual Beings We Be

It's something, I admit, that fascinates me. I love sex and all the facts about it. I have a passion for sexuality, but not an addiction to sex. I am always having to clarify the difference.

So I will once again clarify it here. I love that we are sexual beings, and I myself brace my sexual side. But I am no sex addict. Because addiction holds no passion and a sex addict actually likes HAVING SEX. Now, thats the big thing.

I don't like sex very often. The physical act of it with another being is something that makes me extremely out of my zone. But I love talking about the history of it, how it reflects in our culture, and the types of acts we can really do that may not involve the basic form of sex(genitals and some sort of penetration) at all.

That's why I like to focus on fetishes. People with fetishes might not even need what we would consider sex on average. Fetishes can come from people like the man from My Strange Addiction, whom loved his car. His form of sex didn't involve what we could consider sex. That is..unless your mind is open to a more spiritual side of a sexual experience.

A sexual experience is something that starts in us early. When I was younger my sexual experiences included fantasies, dreams, and taking showers with my friends without bathing suits. We were still innocent, but these little moments can effect our entire sexual being as a whole later on. We may not even realize it till much later.

I myself have fetishes that I can be "sexual" with, without having to do anything to myself. It is a purely emotional expereince that is much more powerful than the basic orgasm that we all know. Now, bringing orgasms into this. There are types of orgasms and it all has to do with the individual and how it is done. Some are stronger tha others, some have an after effect that can last hours on end. There are about 6 or 7 types that can be done for the average women.

So, the point to this? My age does not mean I do not understand sex. Just because I know about it(sometimes a hell lot more than the adults who lecture me) doesn't mean I am having it. I am no sex maniac. I am actually quite asexual physically. But my being and my soul are purely sexual at most.

The benefit to me knowing this? My career I'm heading towards is a sex therapist. I figure I should probably understand this before I head naive into the world. Plus it makes it easier on me and my future partners that I understand MYSELF. I know what to do with myself and I can therefore focus on the other persons experience in confidence.

Adults who tell me I'm too young to know this are not only frustrating, but telling me that I am not mature enough to handle the idea of it. Because their fear is that the more I know the more I will become this sex fiend.

I have always been a sexual being. That is a part of me as much as my own breathing. We all are. And what society says I "should" do at my age and my own intelligence means nothing. I am my own self, and I understand why I do what I do more than any one else who thinks they know any better.

Nothing my elders try to brainwash into me about the fact that I'm young will change that. My body is simply a tool, and my soul is what I know. Why does it matter what I do with it? If I am not harming myself in the act then they have no right to butt in. Age is a number. Intelligence is a choice that I have made for myself. By myself.

Rules of Attraction

I have recently been reflecting upon my own attraction, and what really sets it. I identify as pansexual, and only fall in love with personality. My sexual desires form after I've fallen for them first.

Even so, I do have certain preferences when it comes to how some one might personally identify and their own style. The best way I can possibly describe who I like are simple: metrosexual transmen, handsome women, and beautiful men.

I use vague terms only because what I find as handsome in women differs depending on what correlates with the individuals personality. Looks don't really effect me when it comes to a relationship I have.

I am not saying I don't have pure sexual attraction. If I happen to be watching a film and find some one attractive, then it can be just as likely to be sexually pleasing. But the true attraction I could ever feels towards any person(quite literally) really takes some time to simmer.

While I'm at it, I will add a few of my favorite "attractive" folks that I simply adore on here for my own entertainment.  The list goes in this order : Devandra Banhart, Laura Pergolizzi, Gotye, Daniela Sea, Lucas Silveira(of The Cliks), Johnny Depp, and Nanou of Suicide Girls.

I Was Sung a Song

I got a call from a few hours ago from my lovely aunt, whom is recovering from injuries at a nursing center right now. I haven't seen her in a few weeks and was surprised she called.

I also know when she calls its because she wants to talk for a long time and is usually about some doctor or medicine I know nothing about. So I answered it begrudgingly only to have instantly become her voice through the phone. She was singing me a song. A song that me and her used to sing when I was a child and she wasn't sick and makes me laugh and smile cause it's so amazing to hear it.

                                            "I just called to say I love you
                                             I just called to say how much I care
                                             I just called to say I love you
                                             And I mean it from the bottom of my heart"

She ended this with a laugh and said she had drunk coffee, not remembering there was caffiene in it and she was hyper.

Now a lot of times she is completely crazy and I feel like I'm just being used. But then there are moments like these. Where at random times fo the night she'll call me just to sing me a song and tell me how much she loves me.

And then I forget that we ever shared such terrible pasts together, and I'm brought back to the days that it was me and her. And she was teaching me how to shave my legs and cook eggs. The days she let me sit in the shower for 4 hours with my crayola shampoo and paint all over the shower walls and waste water. These are what make me think that one day everything will be okay.

Because no matter what I know that woman loves me. A real love that no one else can give. Because she would give her life without hesitation to make sure I was happy. And that is really what makes everything she's done up until now completely meaningless.

And as something cliche can relate..love really does turn this blind eye, and heal all wounds. Even if those wounds are so deep they can never fully heal right

Perfectionist Problems

So today in art I am, once again, behind. While everyone has started theirs, I still have a drawing and no color. I asked for some help and was practicing some painting with the teacher so I wouldn't mess up my sketch. My sketch of this photograph is like..PERFECT, right?

And right as I get the hang of painting with water colors down(which is a bitch to do), I wash the paint off the table and am careful to not get anything on my sketched paper. I slowly mix just the right amount of color, check the time to see if I can finish it. Timing is perfect! So I literally pick up the brush to begin..and this girl beside me knocks my water color dish a little bit.

Blue paint went all over my god damn sketch. After I spent so much careful time trying to not mess the thing up. I was a little upset, and just put my paint away because I was paranoid. And decide to sketch another one that isn't as good.

Now what really made me angry was not that she did it. I understand it was an accident. It was the fact that she just sat their staring at me and said nothing. NOTHING! Not even a fucking apology.

And the entire time as I'm re-sketching this drawing and not saying what I want to say to her face, she completely forgets the incident and just continues talking about some date with her boyfriend.

If I had been an uncontrollable person I would have punched her right then and there. But instead I re-drew it and simply decided my ruined one can be practice for my painting that's getting graded on. Turning a bad situation into something that won't make me want to give up completely.

Why am I so frustrated? Well, I am an extreme perfectionist. If I like something it is probably in its most perfect state. And if that thing gets ruined..well it is trash to me. Absolute trash.

And so, my day has been officially..

FUCKED.

Thanks, rude bitch who can't even apologize.

Confidence

It seems I have taken some time to re-read all my old poetry on and I've grown a new found confidence over my writing. I can see all these slight changes in my writing and I can physically see how much easier it is to write. I love being able to notice how much I've grown as a writer. And that's saying a lot.

Although, considering the only one who ever reads my poetry is me, I could just be living off some hope that I even have talent. (Yes, I am admitting that no one gives a shit what I write about). I am not afraid to say that I happen to be one of millions of poets who want to have any other name but amateur for their writing. That's life, I guess.

The point of this all is that I am in love with my poetry right now. This confidence will not last long though. Give me a month and I will go back to hating it and not wanting to ever see it again.

No matter what, it holds an important purpose. It helped me survive all the terrifying years of my childhood and the deathly silence my world was. Without it, I would have never been able to move on with my life. Even now, not writing when I'm anxious would be so unnatural to me.

My poetry is my entire mind. It's my being and my soul put into some form. I may never be honest when some one asks me how I am, but when I write something it comes from this raw part of me. I'm not looking for some critic to say its not good enough to be published. Because it's all for my own self healing, and I never intended it to be work for me. There'd be no passion if I did it on a timed limit.

Dating

I have a certain policy with dating. It's strict and it is necessary for me to have guidelines with it so that all the bullshit that comes along with it can be avoided. I have a literal personality and honesty is a huge thing for me. I can not stand when my parents start talking to me about meeting people by dating, like I can't possibly have a relationship unless I start with it.

I will never date a stranger. Any relationship I pursue starts as acquaintances, and months of a friendship. This is because me being pansexual, I need to know the person before having any attraction to them. If I get feelings for them, I wait around 6 months and will tell them upfront. Then from there, whether the person gives me a chance or not we just start a casual relationship. If it starts getting serious, and I start to love the person, then I will date the person. But only after I start a relationship with someone in the first place.

This can help avoid a few things. One being that dating strangers seems to make people want to impress each other. This is usually done by over exaggerating or lying your way through all the embarrassing truths. The other being the awkward small talk and abundant avoidance of personal talk when you have no idea who they are. It just makes the process of liking some one longer than it needs to be.

People tend to disagree with me saying dating is all about fun. But I don't do fun. I am an all or nothing person and don't want to be silly. I have other things to do and don't need to be messing around with my heart too. Throwing love around for the fun of it sounds so crazy to me. I could never risk it.

And after I have tried and explained why I don't date, what question do I get asked about next? Sex.

And that, well, is an entirely other topic of its own really.

Bad Parents

There are some people in this world who were never made to be parents. The way they were raised, their personality, and the way they interact with others makes them impossible at ever raising a proper child. As complex as we are, as infants we happen to be the dullest of the animal world.
The way we are trained to survive in the world has necessities that if met make us proper and prim for us to live on this earth. Three simple rules: freedom, discipline, and attention. With these three all humans will most likely be raised to live as a mentally stable being.
Freedom: We all use it to find ourselves. The constraints of strict environments naturally makes us feel the need to escape, just as animals do when we throw them cages.
Discipline: This is possibly the most important and yet most failed necessity we forget. Without it we have no idea of what respect is, or love, or manners. The basics of understanding life needs to be shown to us. And the reality is..we need to be thrown around sometimes to get it through our thick heads.
Attention: This goes back to the days of old psychology methods. It is now common knowledge that we all want attention, and if we never recieve it as children we end developing attention seeking habits that may never leave us as adults.
It can be simple to parents who have  a natural ability to show all these, and it can never be forced. The simple question is this..in your own personality do you have these three abilities with other humans?
If yes, then your ability to be a GOOD parent is likely.
If not..well, try a pet.

Men

A trivial issue here. As a pansexual, I have this big choice on who I want to associate myself with. I have no faults against men, but there is something I find in the supposed “men” of the good old USA that pertains specifically to pride.
 I hold preferences to protect my own perfectionist look on life. I look for people who naturally don’t make me want to completely go ballistic. That is where men come in, because MOST of them do exactly that. There is this term going around..something called “male privilege”, which I believe still exists. The only problem I have with it is men use it as an excuse to undermine others, and it is also being used against transmen.
I have always been a huge trans activist and quite the tranny chaser in light terms. If I ever try with a man he is more than likely an ftm. I find they have a certain understanding of life that explaining myself to a biological man would refuse to understand.
Another part of the problem is really due to my typical daddy issues. He is what I am, as much as I hate to admit. I grew up in a place where I was treated worse than dirt and men have not treated me right. Not ONE. So my irrational fear of men in any relationship besides friendship is something that makes me more anxious than it should.
 I love women, women who love other women, women who hate the world. Any type of woman is beautiful to me. It’s all about her personality that gets to me, and I’m sure as hell more leniant with women than I ever could with men. I’m stuck in the LGBT world no matter what direction I head, and I am honestly more proud than anything to say that.
I love being me, even though I have the worst outlook on life and have to criticize everything I do. I love being a butch women and I really love people. Just people who remain open minded to the possibility of anything happening to us.
That is besides the point really, as I have gone off into some tangent already. But back to my point. Men..they are trouble for me. And I don’t like trouble. Thus concluding that my likelihood of giving my all to a man is like dreaming of a happy version of me. It just ain’t gonna happen, folks.

Silence is Deadly

 I remain a firm believer that children who are over weight usually grow up having a hard time losing any of it, if any at all. I was such a positive child and even through all the bad I had to live by, I refused to recognize it. I managed to cope through the trauma of it without ever knowing I was coping, and that was raiding the cupboards for some snack to eat.
 It wasn’t until I reached middle school that I began to steal food late at night. I thought about it when I got home, and it stayed with me obsessively till I managed to snag something I knew was terrible for me once my dad was asleep.
 It honestly still shocks me that it took me this long to understand what I had started, and the result of this bad habit that is one of the things I regret. Middle school had been my breaking point. I stopped eating, stopped talking, and couldn’t sleep. I became this hateful little girl that hated herself and the world all at once. The world was my enemy, and therefore my life had really lost all its meaning. I stopped working and become a compulsive liar. It all came to hit me that this long battle with in me had finally reached my head and kicked my ass so hard that I couldn’t get back up.
 After 6 months, I was a wreck. This led me to looking at myself in the mirror for hours at a time and hating what I saw to the point where the marble counter became my punching bag. I tried everything, and my obsession with death and fire only managed to increase. I was hoarding candles, so I could light them in my closet and have it burn my skin slowly. I was intelligent enough not to cut my wrist because it left scars, and I wasn’t about to have some one notice I needed some help. I wasn’t looking for attention, it was the exact opposite. After I had gotten out of it..well, I thought I had improved.
 Until my maintained weight of 150 started increasing week after week. I started binging on food till I would be puking it out because my stomach simply couldn’t take it in anymore. It was my pure obsession with it that helped me live through those same urges I started so long ago. I had to admit to myself that I was traumatized. I was sick. I had a mental illness.
 A year later, I know what exactly is wrong with me. Due to my pure neglect I gained more problems from my original ones. I have a sleeping disorder that I have luckily managed to find natural sleeping aides for me, I have a long standing depression that only worsens, extreme anxiety that leaves me a recluse, and an eating disorder that is killing me physically.
 I am stuck in this place where I have no support from the world around me, and I feel nothing for the sake of continuing on with my day. Being alone is helping me manage my guilt. I need to be alone to keep calm but I hate being alone.
 In truth, I am a complete mess. Highly capable of being called insane, and am assuredly not healthy enough to be living in society.

Epiphany

A friend of mine said something to me that made me think. He said to me, “So you know everything about LGBT’s and serial killers, your set.”
And when he said this I found my self feeling a sense of pride. I have spent all my free time devoting my self to this research for no apparent reason, and I feel accomplished to say I only need to update myself on it now.
Why should I feel proud? Well, I’m not sure. Why did I not cry when I saw my first car crash? Why did I try to calculate how much time it would take to not get hit by a car? I’ve had this inclination of self-worth based on my knowledge of what I know. My interests needs to reach not only the modern but the mechanics and history.
When I like a musician, I not only look up all their songs but who they are. I watch interviews, find personal blogs, find all the history of their lives I can possibly find. It is what I do. I am the “research whore”. I love knowing EVERYTHING.
Does that make me conceited? Selfish? It depends on how someone might look at it really. I know what I know, and any one who might look down upon me is not willing to understand me. I am more than what I show, and no one likes to see farther than it.
Fear is the biggest obstacle for some one as grotesque as me, for fear is what holds the people I adore so far away from me. At a distance that seems like I am utterly alone in the small bubble that my life surrounds.
I have never liked asking why, because it only makes more questions form and I am more lost than gratified in the end.

Hello

I have started this idea of giving my many thoughts a chance in the online world. I'm a bit of a day dreamer and will most likely use this as a philosophical journal or just a simple diary. I am a very queer and very opinionated person who just likes to write everything down. That's all.