Passion fruit

I can feel pretty sometimes

Beautiful even. And then it can dissolve terribly

And I confess I feel like an ugly bitch

And I realize at times I’ve been ignorant to my worth

To be trans at times you feel defective.. They can make you feel so less than,so inferior

And all you supposed to not hate nobody.

And you supposed to look pleasant and act Ike it too

To people who call you man and treat you as the monster.

Not knowing my worth taps in on the loneliest nights and I’ll

Proposition a drunk coke heard all the while aware he can’t perform and I ain’t gone get none.But it feels good anyway in all the ways it’s wrong

I’ve never had that storybook shit being in possession of a dick

Where some jock swoops down and makes me his bitch

 And we produce Kodak flicks,create memories,bond,build and kick the shit.

I know I look good that’s all that seems to matter till it don’t 

And I can’t bear you kids and ya momma n nem won’t smile and welcome me to the fold

I am your liability ,your secret,your fix ,your stashed game for when you want tricks

I could be half insane to think you ‘d ever change. HOW I CONTINUE TO PLAY THE CRYING GAME

I don’t want no new niggas to fuck me naw. I think total vulnerability unbefitting a proud whore

I hope my sex flame never dies. I hope it heats ,boils,sizzles but doesn’t scorch. I hope it fills me with the coolest cool and the warmest warmth

I hope I find my passion fruit

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