my sexuality has nothing to do with your traditional ways
my sexuality has nothing to do with your religion
my sexuality has nothing to do with your sexuality
my sexuality has nothing to do with your morals
my sexuality has nothing to do with what you think is gross
my sexuality has nothing to do with you

I realized, even though I had always had a feeling
I am completely asexual, with physical ****** things
And surprisingly, relationships and love
I'm sorry im not who  you wanted me to be
But I can't do it, because everytime we do something
I have this heart flutter, but I can't ignore
The sick feeling in the pit of my stomach
I'm not cut out to be in a relationship,
I'm too messed up to tell the difference
Between love and a frienship
I'm sorry that this isn't even a poem anymore
I'm sorry I can't go on dreaming about relationships and love
When I'll honestly never be in any of them
I'll always be there for you, and every thing I've told you is true
But I can't do it,
I'm too asexual

my hands have been red since the moment you left.

there is blood under my fingernails,
staining once-clean skin,
tainting my every word.

there is blood under my fingernails
and if i squint their half-moons
might maybe once upon a time
look like your always half smile.
(now i know why you could never
give me a whole.)

there is blood under my fingernails
and i do not plan to clean it.
maybe i want strangers to know
just what i am willing to do.

there is blood under my fingernails
and when they find me here,
staring at your corpse and
echoing my silent screams,
there will still be blood
where i cannot reach.

your blood is under my fingernails.
i'll come for you in the afterlife
and rip you apart again.

this is what she learns:
when people call you a monster, you do not apologize for being the thing of their nightmares.

you show them just what makes you monstrous.

imagine that you live in a world where, until you reach the age of sixteen, the food orzo is forbidden.

you've heard about orzo. how could you not? it's everywhere, because it seems like everybody loves orzo. orzo this, orzo that. for your whole life, you've heard about the glory of orzo. most people you know can't wait to try it. they talk about it all the time.

you, though, you've never had the overwhelming urge to eat orzo, not like it seems your peers do. still, you go along with it, because everybody else loves orzo and can't wait to try it.

eventually, you ask your dad whether he's always liked orzo. "yes," he says, "of course. you might not like it now, but you'll love it when you're older." he then shows you how to make orzo, even though you're not at all curious.

your peers have begun to try orzo. they all give glowing reviews. but despite their enthusiasm, it still seems kind of odd to you. why is everyone so worked up over orzo? what makes it so great?

life goes on. maybe you tried orzo. maybe you didn't. either way, you've decided it's not your thing. the only problem? no one else gets it. they all say, "what do you mean you don't like orzo? everybody likes orzo. maybe you just haven't found the right recipe yet." but you know that you don't like orzo. you probably never will. and everyone else thinks you strange for this.

this is what it's like to be asexual in this environment.

Nine million maniacs scribbling nonsense on the wall
in a mad but noble attempt to make sense of it all.

We're all still teenagers writing about love
Like *** can save
Dropping coins into a fat, pink piggy bank
With a hole in the bottom

Merely a bad investment,
All your sense is rolling off the table
On to the ***** bedroom floor
Where you lend love in hopes of incurring interest