I want to be human or whatever.


Rough rides won’t stop these cravings: tease me till I cum, flog me till I turn. I am tired of being a girl, of rules, of makeup and of breakups. Of constant quarrels and triumphs, of menstruating and ovulating, I just want to be human.

Noodles and crayons, children and triumphs: three fucks, two cums. Pass me the marijuana, I pray that nobody buys her.

I am a confused gay; I don’t know if I even like women if I am gay enough. We broke up because she won’t send me her nudes. I am in camp but still won’t follow the rules.


Married men cheat easily; it is hard to know a true one. Don’t brag about consistency or potency! We are in this together, let’s all fail simultaneously.

Hotel rooms and cigarettes, I am an unpaid whore! Appreciate me, motherfucker! It has cost me so much to be here; you will lose me if you don’t take care.

Black pants, brown wallets: bookshelf, red wine: I’m four years old, how come you look this young? My marriage is due soon. I have always been a victim of fucking people who are about to get married or already married.

Being a girl is hard! No wonder ladies want to be feminists so bad; so badly, fuck me and give me money—I swear, I am broke. I will buy a wrapper for my mother with the money you will give me: don’t we all love our mothers?

The bitter woman I constantly am, suddenly I am forgiving, and I don’t know who I am anymore. How can I thirst without being poor? Who wants a baby these days? How did I fuck someone I met on the first day, someone who doesn’t even connect to me? I am a whore, I swear!

Mothers are funny, I can trade mine for gold, and draw a tattoo of her on my skin next to dad. I am 21 and not free, I am glorified and not weak; don’t ever call me meek.


The ancient city indeed, dirt is all I see. I should be mad about his girlfriend; pretty fair little thing, I should be mad about nudes and galleries, tables and stationeries, but what is there to be mad about? I was just a fuck-me girl, with no destination, no purpose, do you pay well I asked. My emotions drift to oblivion.

I used to be proud of my breasts, but now I hate them. I hate a lot of things; let me live through them. I’m too young for what I am facing, I will take a picture of myself naked when I turn 22. Say a prayer for me or two. It is hard being a girl; I want to just be Human.

Heels and scissors: creams and seizures, I made a video of my cummings. Call me daddy, wear black pants and make another video: five thousand, daddy.


Look for a purpose, my sister warns you are not getting younger: you are a girl, and age is not your friend. I am human, I replied; don’t ever call me a girl.

I bought a wrapper for my mother from the money I made through fucking, she did not thank me for it, she was more bothered than she was happy.

Being a girl is hard! My vagina is sore from too many clients; prostitutes should be recognised by the government, and it’s hard to be a pleasure giver.

Let me kill a baby, let me wet my tongue with fire: breasts will fall, cheekbones will sag and the world will crash: I will forever be human.


I now take marijuana: I like the peace, the feeling that it leaves me with; weightlessness, floating. I was happy for her, more than happy I was pained that she judged me for what she now finds solace in. Why can’t we be human? Why do we judge when we don’t even trust ourselves? In Lyn Hejinian’s voice, Religion is vague and lowing, every day I ask questions that nobody seems to know the answer to. It is more funny than sad that humans should be neutral, neutral to things, people, places, food, everything! That is who I am, and want to be.


Music makes me masturbate.


My mother does not deserve me: she’s perfect! Society said to call her so.


In church today my sister said; can’t you give your phone a break and pray?


Pain is a pleasure: she returned the wrapper I bought saying; obedience is better than sacrifice.


I am going back to my vomit.

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