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aslan Aug 2018
Two
Two notes
from two people
in three days.
Three pages total.
You've seen so much
these last few days.
One, from the love of your life-
that was the long one-
the one where he said
he loved you,
and he wasn't giving up on you,
but on himself.
The one that told you
of a detailed plan.
The one who woke you up
because your song came on their playlist.
It was **** lucky
that it came on
because he was just a few seconds
from grabbing those pills
and that razor blade
and those keys
popping, slicing, driving to the bridge
and jumping off of the edge.
The second one
from a dear friend.
One of your best friends
who pretty much lives with you now.
They said they left a note
"it's not anything bad."
They were feeling bad beforehand
but it got a lot worse
when they came out to you
and some other friends
telling them to use gender neutral pronouns
and their preferred name
because it felt better.
Some of those "friends"
repeating to them,
"******* deserve to die"
and saying that pedophiles
are no worse than they are.
The love of your life
ended up being fine
and was there for your friend
but he was having issues himself.
He saw, he knew, how much it was hurting him-
so just how much
was it killing you inside
to see this happen
twice
in three days?
Your friend is in the hospital
and the love of your life is at home
where the things he could end himself with
are all locked up.
The love of your life
promised you
he would never try again,
would never leave you,
because he, himself, got scared for your friend
so just how bad
was it, for you?
I'm so ******* sorry, J. I love you so so so much, and I never ever want to leave you.
Agustin Fuentes Nov 2015
Moist cement leads to broken metal doors which hold in the pungent scent of the orange air fresheners
Click, ding, swoosh
Everyone rushes in to pretend they have a purpose
Broken earbuds serve me no purpose other than the universal sign of "leave me the **** alone"
Leather wrapped around foam in neat rows
Lined by green tint
And topped with arches of metal
I squeeze into the last bit of routine and look out into the green tinted world
My reflection stares back, judging me

I pretend to ignore him, but she demands attention
They get a firm grip on my hair and tear me from my leather *******
She tells me that there is no hope for the one I pretend to love
He says she has no doubt in their soul that I'm making things worse
I'm suddenly sitting in a metal chair
I feel bound to it, but I'm not

She does it for attention

He has the option to get up, but they stay to hear the truth she has to tell

They do it for attention

You are doing this to ourselves
We can get up from this chair but he doesn't let yourself

We do it for attention

She feels the chair get hot where he sits
They know he can get up but she feels he deserves this pain
He are not bound
We is not bound
They were not bound
She won't be bound

He must be doing this for attention

Attention from whom
They hid her chair for as long as he possibly could
She lied saying he was cold...in June
He made jokes when she couldn't come up with excuses
She didn't do this for attention
He sat in the seat because it is her fault
They can get up at anytime
But I don't
I wrote this to (hopefully) be relatable to both people with gender identity confusion and MPD.

— The End —