I cross the same bridge everyday, There are always the same people, With their different purposes, Or is it the same?
Today I saw God begging for a coin, On the bridge. Nobody looked at him, I guess they were mad, So was I.
I came to God and slapped his face, He understood and didn't fight back, I hit him for everything, Like an ant that escapes from the farm, After several minutes I remembered that I don't believe in God, Not this guy with a beard anyway, So I stopped and continued my way.
I returned for a last punch in the face, Just in case. This reminded me of my first fight with Tyler.
but I know what i dont have i don't have the time the walls are closing in on me these walls the ones i created the closer they get the less i can breathe roaming in circles gets me nowhere but its all i know how to do by now the only thing i can do is stand here and let my dizzy mind get crushed by these four towers of impending doom
i aint got time - Tyler the creator its one of my favorite songs but sometimes I think of it in the opposite way of what its meant to be
Neither girl nor male… So what am I? Am I the so-called perv aiming to invade the wrong bathroom? Am I a heretic aiming to impose my wickedness onto the world? Am I the clocking stares they give me? How about the result of a broken home or a broken heart? Does my mere existence force you to reevaluate your identity? When all I'm trying to do is figure out mine. Neither girl nor male… So you tell me where I am to relieve my bowels. Or am I to stitch them shut for your comfort? While I'm at it, shall I stitch my eyes shut as to not burden you with running mascara; which further assaults my "feminine façade"? I'm sorry to burden you with my fake *****, of which a second of labor (turning your head) would relieve you of your distress. I'm sorry you'd rather slave away starring and clocking them. Clocking me. I am sorry that I was born male yet refuse to live up to such expectations. I am sorry that despite my best efforts I cannot pass for how I feel. Believe me—for the life of me—I am trying. As punishment for lack of natural *******, I stretch my skin to form a pleasing cleavage. As punishment for having the wrong body type, I wear a cage around my abdomen two sizes too small that cuts into my rib cage dare I seek the comforts of sitting down. As punishment for being born with a male anatomy, I crunch my disheveled sack of nerve endings between my chaffing thighs. Dare my body have the audacity to ***** itself for any reason I bend the muscle, in such a way never intended, between my legs just to have one less aesthetic reminder as to what I am not. Your clocking stares painfully remind me that I may never be seen as how I see myself. But ****** do I try. Until I do, I am condemned to be neither male nor… female.
By far not the worst struggle in the world. Disheartening nonetheless.
In my room locked up tight, so no one else could see I got your shirt from it's hiding spot and held it close to me I buried my face in it and inhaled, it still held your wonderful smell I closed my eyes so very tight, it was almost like you were there I could almost feel your arms the way you would hold me tight I almost heard your voice, telling me it would be alright
But reality always has a way of creeping in There is no stoping, tears flowing again I will never again love, how could I There's absolutely no reason why Only left with halve a heart, and that part is shattered Besides there'll never be another you, so it really doesn't matter