I Am A Boy Written By Pete Wentz

Internalized homophobia 

One of my friends recently confessed That he felt like he was going to hell  For who he loved and who he undressed.

He told me he didn’t know what the Bible said That he didn’t want to offend Me, but all I could do was feel sad for him For I know what it’s like to hate who you are, To hate yourself To want so badly to just be someone else.

Sometimes I still feel the weight in the back of my mind Like a ball and chain, dragging me down Suffering and shame, white out over my free name Replaced by freak, sinner, faggot, ashamed Some days I still think I might drown.

Hallelujah, hallelujah Doesn’t mean anything to me Anymore, I can’t know if I believe  Because the religion tells me love is a sin And if I’m a sinner for love, heaven Is never anything I want to get in To, not today or tomorrow  For to lose my love would be  The greatest shame and/or sorrow.

This is who we are, for forever We can’t change how we feel Not even in the passing days All we have is the thought of holding it together I don’t know how to put this any better, But I believe that it’s never getting any better.

One of my friends recently confessed That he felt like he was going to hell  And all I wanted was to tell Him, that love should never be forbidden That he’s too young to live with his heart hidden Away from the world The way that I felt When I was fourteen years old.

‘If you’re the only one who knows the truth, only you can hurt yourself’

The city is endless and it is dark.  When there’s nowhere left for me to run,  the city holds me in its arms.  All I’ve ever asked of it was for a ‘’safe place’’ to fall apart. Drowning in the reservoir,  if I go too deep into my mind.  An optical illusion you can only see  if you’re on the inside (---in on the joke.) Ha ha ha. Laughing at me, a thousand smiling faces— a thousand more memories. There’s something hiding in the shadows,  in a corner.  In my closet,  behind a shelf.  This is why  I keep all the mirrors locked up. It can't hurt you if its not really there Scratch it out, scratch it out, scratch it— The record skips again, passing me over  for the eight thousand, six hundred, and forty ninth time. All I want is.. a second chance? A do over–again and again, Like an infinite loop inside my messed up head. ‘’Don't you think you'd be better off like the living dead?’’ Paranoia follows in my footsteps, A stalker in the night. He can never hope to catch up to me. I live in his house in the daylight. When the sun sets I sleep in the crowded streets. Begging for scraps of meat. Won't you grant me a sweet relief? I promise I’ll stay by your side,  day and night.  Like the hound that haunts you/Is this  what it feels like to know  Nobody wants you?

Demolition Man

I hate him.

(the chokehold this album has on me is crazy, man)

Reddit just gave me a THREE DAY ban. I hate my life

favorite color: black

last song: space bound - eminem 

currently reading: John Winchester’s journal

currently watching: The punisher

currently craving: that sonic burger I keep getting fuckin adds for 

coffee or tea: it depends 🤷‍♂️

tags:

@cool-lesbian-is-here, @stitchedribs, @soapiezzzz, @deadendgoal, @multimusiclover, @bloodynrves <33

Thanks @youreyesaremyfavoritecolor <3

get to know your moots tag game ! ✶ answer the questions, then tag six people

favorite color ꕀ green and brown last song ꕀ tú by maye currently reading ꕀ the luminaries by susan dennard currently watching ꕀ the great british baking show currently craving ꕀ massaman curry. like always. and like. alcohol and a couple cigs HAHA. a break too :P coffee or tea ꕀ always tea! i don't like coffee

ty for the tag @saltcxrcle ! tagging: @lelapine @toadspondofwhimsy @outof-spite @h0neyst4rz @hhoneylemon @our-lady-of-venom

By Sibil George photography

I found peace on his words, does that make sense?

home - pencey prep

10.6.24

Going to my little cousin’s basketball game. Driving by an old, painfully Southern Baptist church with tall grass. Eating burgers and drinking milkshakes with the family (something all American.) (Same place, different name.) I don’t remember the town I was born in. Did I grow up in bumfuck nowhere or suburbia? It’s all dizzy. Like a sick kind of merry go round. It’ll never end, I think. Some days. Is it true? Was anything? I have memories that aren’t mine and nightmares that are.