she screamed my name so loud, never once i felt my world crumbled, i don’t know whether it’s terror or anger that i felt, because in that eyes, i can clearly see, that her hate is bigger than love, that her hate is louder than her voice, just because I simply was late to her calling.
in my next life, i want to be a man, not because i have more benefits in patriarchal social, maybe that’s one thing, but no; i simply want to experience being loved by women as a man, because that is the real privilege.
my body is a canvas, a canvas to resort to own pain, if i can’t carve it myself, i let people paint on me, i let the ink tattooed on my skin, continuously, until the ink and every paint runs out in this world, then; my body has become an art.
“why dont you ever give us your opinion?” opinions? MY opinions? why would I even bother? when my voice wont even resonate through your ears, and my words wont even be enough to reach your brain, including your eyes, your eyes were looking through mine, though in fact you’re not digesting my words, but yours.