ex
Canadian
I'm fifteen. / / I go by two pseudonyms: either 'Ex' [X] or 'Rosa'. / / I hide. A lot. / / I like to read poetry by obscure authors. You find so many gems that way. / / I'm a musician, and I find it difficult to write lyrics sometimes. They don't come out the same way. / / I'm a moody, unpredictable pansexual teenager living in Pakistan. Since I'm also Pakistani FYI. / I've come out to my mom, my sister and my best friends. They are the only people who know, since I can be killed in Pakistan for having an 'alternative' sexuality. KILLED. LEGALLY. / / I come from a family where the arts [and any jobs that are related to the arts] are considered stupid. Well, except for a small group of people. But other than that... / / Um. Yes. / / That's about it. / / I like meeting/interacting with new people so send me a message or something sometime. / / -ex
I never knew.
I've been in the dark.
9 months. 9 months, he kept me from you.
I couldn't see you.
I couldn't see your smile.
You have my eyes.
You have my sister's expression.
You have our past.
You share our stigma.
You share our pain.
I want to see you, little boy.
I wish I knew you.
I wish I could hold you close.
Tell you that everything.
Everything.
Would be ok.
Life is unfair.
The world is unfair.
But we have each other, little brother.
I'll never fail you.
I'll stand by you.
You are loved.
Forever and always.
Dec 4, 2011
Dec 4, 2011 at 7:43 PM UTC
I am tired.
Tired of pretense and falsehood and lies.
Tired of hiding and faking laughter.
I am tired.
Tired of happiness and tired of emotion.
Tired of acting.
Pretense.
****** into lie after lie about living.
Are you tired of living?
I’m tired of life.
I’m tired of people and their near perfect lives.
I’m tired of shallow problems and stupidity.
I am tired of people.
Life seemed so full.
Life is a joke.
No one cares.
They never will.
I am a cesspool
of self pity and self hatred.
I am weary.
I am hungry for change.
I am tired of this life.
Free me.
Dec 4, 2011
Dec 4, 2011 at 5:26 AM UTC
Give me a sign.
A thought.
A glance.
Let me know what's on your mind.
Do you think of me?
When I look at you.
I'm lost.
Confused.
Utterly wrecked.
My heart.
Has been torn out and thrown in front of an audience.
To look at and laugh.
At the ignorance and stupidity.
Of adolescent infatuation.
But it hurts.
It hurts to think you'll never know.
It hurts to think you'll never care.
It hurts when you talk about him.
I want to scream, tear my hair out, cry.
Cause a scene, throw a tantrum, let them all hear me.
Hear me loud and clear
I want you.
I need you.
I love you.
Dec 4, 2011
Dec 4, 2011 at 5:14 AM UTC