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tw for not nice things i say about myself. my emo writing blog!

i wish you could see how much you disgust me. i wish you could see how much ive grown to dislike you. i wish you could see that i no longer care at all. i wish you could see how our history is nothing to me now. i dont trust you anymore. i dont love you anymore. the sight of your face has gotten old and your voice sounds like broken machinery.

im fed up with your bullshit. its all an excuse to keep me away. im begging you to just let me in because i want you. i want you desperately and with all of myself. all you give me is nothing. please let me in please please please i want you. youll never know it but i do.

you dont owe me anything but that doesnt stop me from wanting. i know youre hurting and i know youre suffering but i dont want whats best for you. i just want you. i want to take you i want to have you and ill take anything you give me even if it fucking hurts (and it does).

in the real world im not judged for who i am, what i know, or what i do, but by how immobilized by anxiety and fear i am at any given moment. i want to move, i do. i want to move but i cannot. i cannot move. im stuck. i dont want it to be like before, but it is, because i cant move.

under your watchful eye

movies are me. i watch movies that i am. you want to know who i am? lets watch a movie together. but when i put the movie on, they get bored. they do other things. they abandon me. they dont like me. “why did you ignore the movie?” i ask. “i didnt! i watched the whole thing!” they lie. you dont know what i am about, do you? what do you remember about me? why are you pretending? i know you dont know. i will get angry about it, i am sorry. i dont want you to pretend, okay?

ive always known that my parents have seen me as a hypothetical. a hypothetical child. the idea of a child, no attributes, no personality, just a concept. i am not a person. i am a thing they thought up and executed. exactly. a thing. or nothing, perhaps. what the fuck am i if not an object. a thing that makes sounds, eats, takes up space. goes from place to place, annoys, imitates humanity. i will never be human. i will never be a person. i am nothing.

i am a person. man, woman, why do you care? why do you care what i wear? why do you care where i have hair? what does it mean to you? i have hair, i have shiny lips, i wear baggy pants, i wear lace. its what i choose. why choose one or the other, a suit or a dress? bald or hairy? why force a decision on me, one that i have to choose the “correct” choice to in order to feel your love? if you want me to be someone you like, then dont give me the choice. im tired of trying to go on my own only to be pressured and degraded, be called “pretty” and be called “dog”. im not clay, i am a person. i have my wants. i want my body. i want to be seen the way i want to. not the way you want me to. why pretend like you dont care, only to make fun of me when you think i forgot about it? “do you think youre a boy? no? okay, so you are a girl, just like i thought. now go shave your legs.” fuck you.

im fucked in the head. i like the things that make people pray. i yearn for the things people outlaw. i think of the things people get locked away for. some days it feels like the only thing that pushes me forward is blasphemy. sin. i feel ashamed because of it, even if i think i dont. i want to be the person who is strong in their convictions, the person who stands tall in the face of disgust. but i dont know if im strong enough for that. what am i strong enough for? it seems like all i do is crumble under the weight of responsibility, under the weight of expectation. how do i expect me to be proud of me? when all i do is nothing and expect results.

i have the face of a corpse. the eyes of a junkie, the body of a glutton, the thoughts of a harlot. is everyone beautiful in hell? would i feel the same (self) rejection i feel here?

today, i rubbed my eyes and couldn’t stop. i rubbed and rubbed until it hurt, then i rubbed my eyebrows. they laughed at me, though what can i say, i would have laughed along. it was a funny sight, a fat girl with crazy hair, rubbing and rubbing and rubbing.

today i thought about killing myself, so i took my clothes off and vacuumed my room for half an hour. i listened to i brought you my bullets, you brought me your love while vacuuming my drawers and sorting my notes based on subject.

graffiti i found in charlotte, nc