boyz make me cry

clueless cis-white-manny

“hey can i trade you some bud for a beer?”
“i don’t smoke”
“oh okay… so like how do you identify?”
“as a human”

god shut the fuCK UP 

Pretend it’s not yours

“Tell me about your hobby
Get me with a quick punchline
Lead me through the hallway
Equipped with your best disguise

Steer the instance of grievance
With confidence and respect

I see admittance as
A product of disgrace
When you lie so sordidly
The glass shakes and lets you in

You invited me to fly, I
Pardoned you cause you frightened me

You were looking at the prize
Your hunger kept you from peeling
I swear I was looking in your eyes
When I lost the feeling

I hate what I gave
I hate what I gave you” 

i got too angry at the world

and he left

it was over a movie, it was over things we couldn’t control

i was angry, i told him about hetero-monogamy

and while it keeps them happy, it kills me

he asked me why i can’t just smile and say uh huh

and i was shocked

it came from him?

it came from him?

it came from him?

U CALL IT

i try to think of myself as a secretive person, doing the whole tall silent strong thing jenna used to talk about. but looking back at my inability to hold back my drunken surges of emotionalized internet energy through the posts i make on this thing, it’s clear that i’m absolutely not. this inability is soaked with the stench of teen spirit that has rolled over from my livejournal day, fantasizing about running into sprinklers and blacking out when i barely knew what my body was or what a shot of whiskey could do to it, and i end up nostalgically becoming an eager participant in this whole over-sharing thing that potentially causes trouble

sometimes i think i’m really stupid an embarrassing doing all this scream queens stuff, posting videos of my friends’ bands, transcribing interviews i do with bands from my radio show, and i’m like “who the fuck do i think i am and why is this important”, then i remember the dude(s) who wore the big non-prescription glasses who got hyped on harlequin baby and wanting to promote my band but being confused that i self-identified as a faggot, and it’s encouraging to know that i give a fuck in maybe a real way, not in the way where i try to tag random bands to some random label-esque type thing // but it’s convoluted, it’s strange, and i’m still not sure why anything feels important to me

i feel hurt by a dude i used to date but i’m also not sure if these feelings are important. i’m at a point where “blocking it out” and “trying not to think of it” seem to concave, where trauma and drama are making out while i try to figure out my relationship to both and why i can’t say anything throughout their vivid presence. it would have been nice if you told her about the kiss, i wouldn’t feel as crazy as i do now if you did. crazy or drunk, trauma or drama, either way it’s 5am and i don’t really care to deal

Moody Lime

i normally don’t updated don’t update this thing unless i’m wasted; i’m wasted, and here goes livejournal 2.0

my dad was squinting at my leopard shorts, this weird way of showing faggyness, got squints, no threats made, dad just told me how the cops would throw me in prison for looking like a freak, i lauged at him, laughed at how sem-true/sem-false his statement was. i yelled some bullshit about being punk and hating humanity and needing to look different to express that- but all it was was leopard shorts, he had an intense reaction, i needed to match his. i don’t hate my dad, but that word can be so fucking disgusting- a person who’s always excused, served, respected- he feels entitled to that, how do you take him down while showing him you still love him

mother was in the car wishing she had “normal sons.” i asked her if she wanted me to be like the guy she tried to force me to be friends with in middle school. the guy who sexually abused me, was the popular kid, won the “cutest” superlative in the yearbook. she always knew he was a snake, and of course she didn’t know what he did to me, but bringing up his name, she may have reconsidered asking me to be a normal man. wearing jersey shorts with a gross intrusive boner ever-present, lying on top of me and omg i’m in 7th grade stop rubbing yr fucking cum on me 

i went to a party. i felt like jenna, i didn’t care to interact with people, i smoked cigs in the backyard by myself for most of it and looked at an odd looking moon, my ex’s i thought were looking at it too, i thought that shared visual was kind of a compromise for hurt or something (i sound stupid) but really i was just alone. in the background there was “sex on the dance floor” music playing, everyone seemed younger than me, they weren’t, but i’m jaded in the worst way

i’m not sure what i’m pushing against these days, there’s too much hurt and shit and hypocrisy for anything to be coherent. i doubt myself always, i appreciate that i’m most always unsure about how i feel, but while i;m being submissive in this way some dude is getting away with being an arrogant evil jerk who’s opinions always matter, and i sit there, grossed out to the Nth thinking about how confidence within queer bodies continues to be criminalized and oh hey skin skin skin

jail cell jail cell jail cell i don’t know when this will actually make sense so don’t edit this 

yr cute

but i hate myself too much to ever let you know it

holler at all the ‘queer’ camouflaged pieces of shit straight men i dated that destroyed my confidence and made me allergic to real fucking queer touch

FUCK U
FUCK U
FUCK U

i hope you hiccup really bad when you think of me 

three wishes

kill cops
kill cops
kill cops 

i hate everything all the time maybe i should see someone maybe not

how do you like, tell straight “alternative” people to kill themselves without coming off like an asshole?

^ the queer punx

my ex-housemates would get pissed if they saw this

coachella’s that special time of the year when bros get to express their femininity by wearing pink trucker hats and adorning themselves with neon plastic necklaces

the worst part of all this is getting caught looking through people’s stupid post-drugfest pictures, counting how many different ways DWHs can appropriate electro fag/glitter punk stylings with their obnoxious participation in southern california’s subcultural facade

-

i was at a bar a few months ago with ex-boyF and a friend and i was talking shit on bros and they got mad at me saying what my idea of what a bro is “doesn’t exist” and that i’m “bitter and judgmental” and that “people are people”

sorry to be a hater, but when i talk about my distaste for these so-called people i define as bros, i’m trying to reveal my paranoia, anxiety, and terror about living each day as an aesthetically obvious fag in a world where i can see my fucking grave in these men’s eyes. excuse me for being “bitter and judgmental” though