It starts off hot
speeds up real fast
Meet him and he say he likes it
He goes,” Are you a tranny?”
I say I’m transgender
Do you wear wigs, makeup and heels?
No I don’t.
Do you wear a thong?
And the phone goes click.
It makes me sick in so many ways
The ways these chasers play
and the fixtures and appliances they covet
Real person with real feelings and real life be damned.
You want a porn star. You want a fake bitch.
You want fake parts and pieces.
You don’t want me for me. You give a fuck about my story
You care less about my conversation. You want scandalous details
about all the surgeries Im posed to have. You want to know how
big my dick is and can I still come? You want to know how close I get to
them visions on porn sites. You like the rest of them do not see
me as a woman. You dont see me as a real person.
You want flashes, amenities and fixtures, bells and whistles
There is no possibility of discussions of anything else
I hate you and hope you go to hell
For failing to be more
For throwing salt in my face and the game
You not a real fan, nor are you a supporter
You’re an endorser of us never being mainstream
of remaining dark, dirty little secrets you can harbor
that you self flagellate everytime you cum and everytime you
pretend to be a good husband, family man, favorite son,
regular dude from around the way.
I see you chaser, you lowkey hater,
you superficial bitch with your affinity for bells and whistles
I hate you and I hope you go to hell
For almost being nice and failing like the rest of them
to see us as real people, as real women, for forcing us
into boxes of performance and making null and void the possibility
to be anything else.
Fuck you Chaser