In this world, it doesn't matter what good I've done, it doesn't matter that I love too, or that I am human, it doesn't matter that I am honestly no more different from you than the average person on the street.

All that matters is that, no, I'm not straight. As long as I'm not straight, I'm hated. Because what? Someone thinks that I am bad. Someone thinks that I deserve not to be treated with the same rights that any other straight person has.

What's a boy to do, then, when every single person around him believes that? What's he to do when the people he loves the most start to turn their backs and pretend not to know that part of him?

It's the rejection of the worst kind.

I feel like nobody believes in me, in that what I say I need truly is what I need. Almost like they would try shock treatments next.

I want to change the world but nowadays I only have anger and hatred. All I want to do when I find a hater is beat their face in, or burn their house down.

Fight fire with fire, right? I don't have love for these people no more.

That scares me, because I'm a lover, not a fighter. I'm incapable of fighting for long.

Life is tearing me apart with no outlet, and my insides are raw and bleeding from all the damage they cause to me, and, more, the damage I cause to myself. Because I cannot love myself, to be honest. Therefore, no one can truly love me.

-

My love for you is not unconditional, beautiful, but it runs deep, and even if you gave me nothing back I would still be here. I would burn in pain, and I would starve for your attention, and maybe I would go look for someone new, but I would still be here, you would still have my heart, and you would always be on my mind, and if I went out and got stone-drunk your name would be all over my lips.

I fear, deeply, that I truly am not good for you, that I should get on my feet and walk, walk far away from you so you can find someone who will finally be good for you and will knock you off your feet and will love you so deeply and unconditionally that nothing else will matter. And then you can have little babies, real babies, his babies, your babies, babies that actually look like you.

There are things that I will never be able to give to you, and I am constantly reminded of them, and I live in a state of constant unhappiness not because of you, no, but because now I have seen the world and it has seen me and spat in my face. And you, if you hold my hand and walk with me, I know it will come to spit in yours too.

I don't think I could bear to put you through that, but how can I bear to leave knowing that I still want you around, and that you still want me.

I didn't use to think that I was bad for you. But resisting influence from everyone (maybe even a little yourself) is so much harder that you might think. And love has seen me laid bare for you.

I'm afraid of your words, because I've seen how empty they can be.

You were born to die ultimately,
but in the life between birth and death,
do you live for you or someone else?

Hello world,

Why won't you grant me the love that everyone else can have? Why must I constantly wander in and out, unblinking, through my days? Why do people judge me before they know me, and then judge me again after that simply because I am different, I am transsexual, I am not what they are?

The options, then, are to hide, or to get rejected. I can tell you that being rejected as a person is the worst feeling in the world. And I'm tired, so damn tired and so damn frustrated of hiding. Everyone has their secrets, but if I have to hide my soul, then what will be left of me?

I feel like a shell of the person I used to be. I don't feel anything anymore, just a general feeling that I don't know, and I attribute it when I like, naming it anger, sadness, everything and I honestly don't know what it is.

It's growing and getting harder to keep out of my mind.

I hope I deserve something better than this. I don't want to stay this way, in this hole that I was dropped in as a kid. I thought I was climbing out, but now they're starting to shovel dirt on me and I'm on the verge of giving up fighting.

I feel hopeless.

People love me because they don't know who I am, and I'm afraid to show them who I am, because they'll run from the bad parts and I'll be left with nothing.

It probably isn't true (I hope), but I feel an overwhelming darkness inside of me that I can't seem to beat. Simply because everyone tells me it is, you know?

"Hello, you're screwed up, go change and you can come back to church. Or you can stay here and we'll make you change, you weirdo. You're going to hell if you don't come back."

I hate you with a vengeance, world. I might be able to kill everyone if you gave me a gun right now. I never really know, but I could certainly beat up some people if only I wouldn't get thrashed in return. I'm not stupid.

I wish people would stop using gay as a synonym for stupid.

I can't remember how it feels to not worry about anything.

I need you now.

Please.

Let it be said that I am tired of you doing this to me. If this is what you want, then I'll give it to you. Just don't play me.

Please don't play me.

No matter what I say, I will love you. Come what may, until the end of time, whatever.

It's too late for me to change that.

But I can't take it; you change your mind like it's all that matters, that my feelings don't, like all you have to do is explain and it'll be alright. I'm damaged, and I need you to build me up, not bring me down.

Don't tell me the things you tell yourself to make things okay.

I'll learn. And, probably, it'll do you good to forget about me.

Maybe we'll see a miracle, or maybe we won't.

Please stay beautiful.

I'm not sure how what the doctor has said has affected me.

I feel like I'm not getting any closure, like everything is taking too long, too long.

I'm terribly impatient.

My heart is breaking though my head wants to reason with it.

I'm incredibly tired. The house is asleep but I haven't slept much at all.

I hate it when this happens.

Hate feeling this way for no reason.

Hate filling this void with hate.

You leave me hanging, and I need you.

No, don't tell me what I know you want to say.

Always easy for you to say, and terribly hard for me to do.

My head hurts. I think I'm going back to sleep, for awhile at least.

Please call me. Though, ah. I'm not sure you actually would.

I am angry, and this anger just doesn't go away.

I'm not sure I believe in anything anymore.