want to be a mighty king.

there is nothing that has turned him against sleep. in fact, he rather enjoys it, but these days it is becoming increasingly harder to reach it. when the sun is all the way down and the rest of the world has reached their breaking point of staying awake, his mind switches on. he has all sorts of ideas flying around in his head, crashing about while he tries to hold on. and then he thinks that jacking off is the best idea ever at 1am, even though he doesn't have any response. he could watch his body quiver, contract in orgasm, yet still be there completely unmoved by the process. he almost feels as though his body is feeling this sexual thing that his mind just can't seem to wrap around. it's almost frustrating. eventually 2:30-3am rolls around and he's starting to wonder what there is left to do and he curls in a ball and finally falls asleep. if only he could be conscious of those dreams, if he could see himself how his dreams picture. sometimes he just really needs to feel more masculine than he really is.  <3 <3 

I don't wanna miss one kiss.

he keeps telling himself it's okay, he can do it. he's just having issues dealing with missing out on what seems like everything. the fact that he has to lie to be allowed to do anything is rather pathetic. the fact that he's almost 19 and his mother wants him to make his 15(almost16)-year-old girlfriend go out of her way and be alone at night from Richmond to Tsawwassen when he has a far less chance of anything happening to him makes him sick. he can't deal with the amount of sheltering that is trying to be put over him when he's seen the pits of hell and he's danced with devils his mother's never even dreamed of. he needs out, he needs to stick his baby toe out to find his footing in the real world. he's trying so hard to be strong for his baby, but he's crumbling, he's failing every time he realizes how much time he misses with her, how many more memories they could have if he could just have a flexibility in his freedom. it's eating away at him how it's him fault because he was a terrible child and is being punished for that. it's his fault for being born. it's his fault for having a mother who is so innocent to the ways of the world.  <3 <3 

what's in a name.

there he is, silent while they misjudge him. he doesn't want to cause a scene. they don't know how much it kills him inside. they don't believe him because he has no desire to be called any other name. he has no attachment to any name, any jumble of letters. everywhere he turns there are new names being assigned to bodies-in-formation. they look to him as if to say where's yours? are you part of the cool kids or not? he remains silent all this time. all he does is manage to keep the tears from falling down his cheeks, never knowing any way to come up with an answer to their gaze's question. he feels so alone in this struggle, so isolated from those in battles most similar. he'll keep telling himself it'll be okay, knowing somewhere in the back of him head that it'll be years before it will be sorted, years before they can have their little lovenest. it's the one things he's counting on these days.  <3 <3 

guess who's back.

he watches life from the outside, peering into what teenaged times are supposed to be. he hears everything through the grapevine. he's been watching from the shadows, reading their unwritten stories. finally he's had them write down the stories, open up in a way that feels safe. he's ready to join those of the living, ready to amount to something. then it hits him: his cis-chick friend can get top surgery just because she feels like it while he's spent nights crying over the chest bits that won't go away on their own and he knows he may never get the funds together to have it rectified. it hurts. for once he just wishes he had a way of passing, a body that didn't give him away at first glance. so he curls up to sleep, hoping to forget yet another day, a day he made it through intact... for the most part.  <3 <3