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Last Login:
November 24th, 2021

Gender: Female
Status: Single
Age: 16
Country: Philippines

Signup Date:
January 02, 2020


11/13/2021 04:03 AM 

11-13-21, 04:02 AM

exchange comfortable conversation for remarks tinted with the slightest bit of teasing. they're similar to the promises i keep in my heart and bury inside its tiniest veins. they're not serious, always half meant with the intention of getting attention. i go past the principles of what it means to be someone who has never felt genuine attraction towards a man....... i get high off of validation. get high off of the sensation and faintly increased pulse and act like it's ephedrine.... as if i need it. and it is entertaining to me the same way i flip through dead channels fighting for their life on outdated cable tv. something about the sensation... about someone else painting a picture of you inside their mind with unadulterated concern and excitement. maybe something else even... it's exhilarating, to be satisfied by words so vacant and overused. and a few more steps in this direction and i suddenly do not know where i'm going. who even am i anymore? trade an actual identity for practicality. sacrilege has always been a concept so foreign to many. like spellbooks yellowed with centuries of age slipped into a paper shredder, all modern and sleek. but to be in a country still shadowed by statues of wooden saints and adorned with the daintiest rosaries... values always observed for the purpose of obtaining a one-way ticket to heaven. and to disrupt the status quo my family has had in mind for my life... the exact path of the steps they want me to take permanently marked in my memory... it suddenly seems impractical. and stupid. and unnecessary... to live my truth. going against it seems so futile now, like it's not worth the fight, knowing i can stand to masquerade around and enjoy being in the romantic company of a man anyway. because what if attention's all that i crave? being with someone i'd truly pour all my affections over, except i'd probably have to face harm in return... i'd go to lengths to keep my family happy... and if living a lie for eternity is what has to happen, then so be it -- i think i'm ready. i don't know... i can't write properly... can't think properly. can only ramble and hope for the best. must be so funny for the white lgbtq+ community to say they're illegal in so many countries when i have to warp my reality around being so.


10/24/2021 03:29 AM 

10-24-21, 03:29AM

others have butterflies that flutter inside their stomachs. the insides of their bodies are tickled with the thin tips of their wings and emotions spring out from the unfamiliar sensation gnawing at their very core.

i have moths in my heart, all forcing themselves inside and leaving no room. wings similar to feathers, dusty and mildewed and too big to fit inside the fist-sized organ. they flutter about and they never leave. it's not that anyone has put them inside of me. i welcome them and give them a home smaller than they deserve. it's too tight and constricting for their kind and yet they make do with the space. and i like them in there. because i've grown accustomed to having them in there. emotions have never been so tangled up and knotty like the first few attempts at tying a noose.

attraction is so complicated. it's like the product of a threesome of mazes and hieroglyphics and morse code. not liking men is such a linear statement, a compact and concise idea. something society has watered down and simplified for years. heteronormativity is drilled into my brain and hung on its frontal lobe with tightly screwed bolts. every fragmented whisper and hushed giggle forced into the inside of my mind like there are three seconds left to fill it before it overloads and the bomb is set off. it'll never work! electric plugs and sockets fit together and so do keyholes and keys and every other euphemism by the sex-crazed sick f***s who base every single idea on penises and vaginas fitting each other like puzzle pieces...

liking people who are not men. seems easy enough for me. and not for everyone else who is like me because for them it is the equivalent of the antichrist. of bloody eyes and reversed words falling out of my tongue like the regrets i've thrown up these past few years. it's demonic and mentally unwell and if anyone else ever finds out i will suddenly grow a pair of tough red horns and have a blood-red trident permanently glued in the palm of my left hand. and so i remedy it with male attention to feel sane and calm and serene and normal. and it's not normal. the moths knock from the inside of my heart and i have to swallow the shock whole.

big gasps of air become stuck in my throat and my heart beats as if it'll never get the chance ever again. everyone made it seem so easy. why is saying words you'll never mean and typing out the most basic sweet nothings so hard? 

maybe if... it was anyone else but a man? 

and i guess i will repeat the cycle once again until i am tired and scared and rushing to get my head above the water. except i will continue to drown and let the weight of my clothes pull me back down and flail my arms around helplessly until grooves and lines are embedded on the surface of my skin. and i will swim until i breathe and taste nothing but the salty ocean air that burns my tastebuds and fills my lungs to the brim. and i will not float. unlike everyone else.


10/19/2021 02:32 AM 

10-19-21, 02:32 AM


they're there for the show, i'm there for the opening act. lips tightly pressed until small talk commences. i like it when the curtains open. they like audience participation. i don't, so i give my all into the mindless conversation as it's all i'm really there for. passing the time. thinking about what it's like on the other side of the earth. feeble desperation from whoever the f*** it is, lust dominating all senses and hotwiring all control over basic human decency. i'm dehumanized, objectified, used, and disregarded - give me all your male attention! hidden in a shroud of anonymity that fuels and jumpstarts courage and makes my hands spell out the most nonchalant coy words onscreen. i'm reduced to an asian slut, a whore with baby bottle red lips for baby bottle tipped d*cks. three-dimensionally, it's another pair of legs threatening to intertwine with mine. an unknown man drunk on the thrill and the gap between our years spent circling the planet. i'm only there for the rush. the slight boost, the energy that rushes up my veins and leaves quicker than the speed of light. the appreciation and the dehumanization and the empty praises to my physical appearance that i know are submerged in salaciousness and nothing more. so maybe i'm still capable of participating and confining to the needs of a patriarchal society. i tease and test my limits and it still feels hollow. there is no rush, there is no excitement, only guilt and regrets of f***f***f***f***f*** i f***ing hate d*ck! i dig at the bottom of the barrel and scrape until its grooves are clean and the remnants of its contents are with me and do it out of genuine enthusiasm and not desperation. nothing's there still. my heart is as hollow as my bones and my throat is drier than the worst dry spell at the sahara desert. i'm tired. comphet has made me live a living hell.

10/16/2021 01:13 AM 

10-16-21 01:13AM

i am the metronome always one beat off, seeming like i've got it until i don't. stare, focus, and gaze intently. you'll miss it. blink and you'll hear slivers of slurred speech, rough and haunting and sharp, but never clear enough to be made out. and it's not like anyone would want to listen to the tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock pounding inside my head threatening to be let out and released through discreet fury. there are many who beat in the same way i do.

10/14/2021 01:48 AM 

10-14-21, 01:48 AM

that one forrest gump scene. i don't know, i've never seen it. how that one guy says something about life being like a box of chocolates... i think love is too. but for other reasons.

preferences... standards... always vastly changing, switching and differing faster than the time it takes for the sun and moon to take each other's places. sometimes they work out in your favor. sometimes they don't. like a box of chocolates that varies for everyone else to enjoy their fair share of the flavors that they desire most. 

in my perspective, with my own two naive eyes who question and intensely pore at situations every chance they get, everyone likes the milk chocolate bars with the peanuts... the ones that start off incredibly saccharine, where the sugar rushes to spread itself across your tongue. tooth-rotting and milky and creamy yet not enough to melt in your mouth. there's a slight chew, a bit of toughness, slightly sticky so they can leave marks on your molars. they stain the teeth for a while. sweep your tongue all around and the faint taste of the chocolate is there. there's also the surprise element - the peanuts. a bit of saltiness, a bit of crunch, a gritty texture most exciting and welcoming to many palates. it peppers the texture of the candy bar and your jaws, an addition in the mix never to be forgotten. the sweetness then never fades; you can taste it even at the very back of your throat, stubbornly staying in there even though you try to wash it down with water.

in more ways than one, boys have always been like chocolates with peanuts to me. frequently coming off strong, whether it's from their suave exterior or their intense body sprays that never seem to depart from their clothes and their surroundings. their personalities come with a bit of grit, somewhat complicated and alien to everyone else. and forcing myself to like boys is like forcing myself to enjoy nutty (ha) chocolate. my attraction to men is like a switch; when i feel like it i kick the voltage up a notch and let the light burn blindingly bright. but it's too tiring anyway, and i just keep it off because i really can't be bothered to pay the bills to keep the lights on. they're like dragons, fun to fantasize about but very impractical. i enjoy thinking of the warmth a hug from one of them could radiate. or how fun it would be to have my fingers get lost in their hair as i whisper sweet nothings in their ears. but when the chance comes, when heartfelt words come my way and the opportunity to get with a boy arrives... i freeze. my entire world stops and regret floods my brain. i don't want to be with one... i can't be with one. and no matter how many bites i take out of the candy bar, the fusion of cocoa and nuts really does not appeal to me.

and women, non-men...

they're bittersweet, and it's just right. there's a bitterness that begins at the tip of the tongue, still coming off strong yet laced with the promise of sweetness and balance. it's a taste that lingers in your mouth for days on end because your brain dares to commit such to memory. the flavors are elegant and lavish; one of a kind. delicious enough that it's almost as if you're drunk on its zest alone. they melt in your mouth just right and have a silky smooth texture that flows in the mouth just right. addictive, like you'd dish out multiple bills just to taste it again.

it seems there's a certain kind of intimacy being with them can provide that men can't. it's delicate and sickeningly saccharine yet i can't seem to get tired of it no matter how many times i experience it. the sensations hit me like a strong whiff of vanilla perfume and it's all overwhelming at the start but it always ends up being familiar, always ends up softening my heart and making it beat 500bpm. it's not awkward and forced and strange, conversations never having gaps longer than a mile. it's always known, always accepted and welcome in my train of thought, seeming so easy even when it isn't. hair that's been doused in some sort of flower scent. hands that grip mine just right. like math rock; multiple complications and questions. but it all makes for a beautiful and unique tune in the end.

sorry -- i do try and test and assess myself, and have done so a million times, but i just can't be interested in guys. life would be easier by a sh*t ton if i were. 


10/13/2021 03:03 AM 

10-13-21, 03:03 AM

hands firmly grasping onto some rope. a grip so tight it burns against the skin, painting the hand's complexion with the slightest amount of red and tingling it with the lightest sensations of pain. never letting the goal break free from its grasp, pulling and grunting and putting in strength an earthquake would envy. you can't simply just do your best.

because once you think you've done enough, someone pulls with vigor stronger than yours, snatching it with a single flick of their hands - you're too easy. everything always seems like they're too easy. a waltz into life accompanied by the most elegant of strings, delicate steps memorized and tapped by feet one too many times onto the floor, until you're pushed into the lake, and into the sea, and into the ocean, and into the very unknown... no one knows how to swim. and no one really cares enough to learn how to. everyone just floats. and tries. and maybe some have enough money to get on a lifeboat.

voices cloud in, yells and screams and stern warnings and hushed whispers. standing at the starting line, letting the energy set alight the brightest of sparks in the body's veins. deep within the smallest crevices and surrounding the entire area. running and losing oxygen, gasping for air and subtle praises to continue to burn. all pumped up and ready to go, deciding and taking every step with reckless abandon. the surroundings blur past until they become unrecognizable... splotches of color, vibrant faces turning into strangers and easily forgotten from memory. the goal is what matters.

the rush is dizzyingly satisfying. it burns until it doesn't, until it does, until it doesn't, until it does, until it doesn't, until it does... run, and if you must, take a quarter of a millisecond to look back. it's the worst thing of all; to see what you could have been, to see others becoming what you should have been, to see people becoming who they should be... eyes focused on the finish line, intensely gazing at the target and having your mind set on the goal... and you end up turning the other way. with the rest of them. what's the point of achievements if someone will always do things better?

you'll never leave a footprint with an impact as great as the one on the moon. your shoe will dig into the mud lightly, harsh enough to indent the floor, yet not long enough for everyone else to keep it. everyone else is in the same race as you are, everyone else is dancing the same dance as you are, everyone else is playing the same game as you are... and all traces of your memories collapse onto land, each person taking footsteps for the first time swirling all its essences through an inept, preliminary tango. they move without grace, and dance to the song with no knowledge, ensuring the memories you've embedded onto the earth return to where you started.

everyone plays the same game. until the surface we exist on continuously shrinks and explodes. or maybe until angels yell and cry, calling attention to millions of beings and carrying them upon their wings. who knows?


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