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This is who I amYou look at me and call me names
discriminate me, just because
I like girls, and I am a girl.
Why judge me for who I am?
I don't see why, you dislike it
Its not like I'll love every girl
Every girl I see.
There's only one girl for me,
She just doesn't know that yet..
So I'll ask again, why does it bother you?
I don't like slutty girls anyway so you're safe
I really don't find girls acting like cheese Doritos
attractive ether so don't worry you're safe too.
You're probably just jealous because you're boyfriend
finds lesbians attractive--Oops? Did I offend? Now,
Now we're even. You offended me so there you go!
Some say its disgusting, yet all I'm doing..
Is being me! I just believe that love is equal
and it shouldn't be hidden.. Just because I love girls
Just stop the judging and the hate,
I'm just who I am
Tr4nsg3n3r - How does it feel?I woke up one day.. I felt trapped enough..
But.. I saw the boulders on my chest..
I hate them being there. I can dress like a guy
But I hate being someone who I'm not...
I'm stuck.. Help me out..
I dress like a boy and get mistaken for one;
I like it, my mum doesn't and screams...
With anger and hate.. I hate it..
I am a boy.. Just on the inside..
Not the outside..
I..I tried going into the gentlemen toilets,
I wanted to see inside and see what it was like
It smelled a lot but it felt right being there..
Security caught me though and called my parents..
I had to tell them.. Everything..
They couldn't take it and my dad said for me;
for me to be a girl, grow my hair out,
Dress up like some fucking doll
I can't take that.. I am a boy..
This is how it feels..
What you do to me..I look at you and your beauty kills my heart
It feels like a thousand knifes stabbing into me
Your scent takes my breath away;
So sweet and warming I don't want to smell..
Any other smell.
When you hold me close..
I melt I don't want to ever let go
The warmth of your body is overwhelming
I wish you could stay, I don't want us being a..
A memory.. I don't want you going..
Stay with me please don't go,
You may not love me
But I love you.. Please.. Don't go
I can't have my heartbreak..
I can't do anything to stop you from leaving
I know you won't miss me..
But I'll say this..
This is what you do to me..
I hurt you..You head that I said things,
They were false though
False against my name
You believed it though..
Its okay, I understand
I know I don't explain much;
or hardly anything to you
But its because I'm so insecure
around you.. Around everyone..
I feel so stupid for not making sense
and for you to have every right
too.. I'm stupid and no good..
No good for anyone..
Find someone else..
I'll probably just hurt you again..
I know that I can't do much,
I won't force you to be with me..
I'm not going to try as I know..
I hurt you..
Fuck off - I've seen the real you.So you think I'm just someone you can ignore?
A invisible person that will never be remembered?
Watch it, what you wish for could be a reality.
I hope you can feel the pain I'm in.
I'm going to go one day but I hope you knew
how much you actually mean to me.
Not that you care. Not that you ever cared.
I've seen the real you and I want you
To just see that! I love you. You don't care.
I hate you right now, Just seeing your name;
Makes me bloody sick. I hate it.
I've had enough..
Let me take my life.
Should I take your life for you?
Just so no more misery is caused?!
Sometimes I feel like that's a good option..
I hate myself for thinking it though..
I love you too much..
Too bad.. I've seen the real you..
Because now I've seen that..
I've done believing in anyone..
I miss the fake
Unfinished painting.I have a paintbrush here
and a canvas
Only difference is though...
The canvas is my arms
and well.. The brush?
The blood is the paint and is
available, pretty much all;
all the time. I just get the brush
and start. Nothing else.
The more people say..
Hurtful, annoying and
stupid things I start
I start again to edit
and what was on it..
I can't stop the painting though
I must do it, till its complete..
Oh wait, it will always be..
A unfinished painting.
Bo.When Lindsay was born, Bo was there. Standing beside her mother, he was the first thing she ever saw. But he was not her father; her father stood on the other side.
Bo was there until the very moment she died.
The sun shone bright through the windows of her pink-laden room. She loved pink. And black.
“Because Bo is black,” she’d told her parents.
Her imaginary friend, they soon concluded.
“Bo is all black,” she described one night as her father tucked her in, “His skin and his hair and everything. He doesn’t talk a lot.”
Her father frowned.
“He sounds scary.”
“He’s not,” she insisted.
Bo sat on the bed and said nothing.
Her father kissed her good night and turned out the light.
“Why can’t Dad see you?” she asked.
“Are you real?”
“Are you real?” he replied.
“How do you know?”
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