Big Scary Angry Intimidating Becky With The No Friends/Now I’m Your Ex

The thing is

I’m like

Not actually an angry person

I identify as

Deeply misunderstood

Like most of you, I’m sure.

It really bothers me

When people assume I’m a

Man hater, or TERF

Or that I’m

Pro-fat just because I

Don’t think fat people

Deserve torture.

I wonder

What causes all of this

Underlying unrest inside me, this

Raging river of

Rough, sour, bitter

Tingling distaste and discomfort.

Why am I–

Someone bursting with joy

Bursting with talent

Exploding with passion and

Insatiably curious

So unbearably

Discouraged by the state of the world?

I think it’s because

Nobody knows me

I’ve been trying to figure out


First I thought

It was cuz I was funny or smart or

Something I needed writing to find out

Then I thought I was it was because

I am secretly a guy

Then I thought it was because

I love having a pussy despite all the trans stuff

Then I thought it was because

I’m fat and people just plain

Enjoy making me feel suicidal

The root of all of this

Is the repeated and profound misunderstanding

Of who I really am

And how I identify

I identify as loving

I identity as curious

I identify as forgiving

I identify as ferocious

I identify as honest

I identify as kind

I identify as helpful

I identify as sincere

I identify as human

I identify as supportive

I identify as a friend

I haven’t been able to

Test out my talents

Nobody will let me in

I have tried, and

Whenever I find someone

They want to fuck or

Hold my interest over my head

Like a sick puppy

Lost in the world without a friend

The only person on earth left

Caring about such petty things

Love is precious

Sex is magic

Intimacy is wonder

Why is it

That the only people

That want to be intimate

Are dead men and lovers?

Jealousy is not something

I am concerned with

Honesty is much harder

To maintain than faithfulness

White lies turn

Black blue and bloody

On my frail thin skin

My own family

Treats me as an

Angry ticking time bomb of fire

My mother

Treating me as a

Sickly Cushing’s monster

Dykey and fat and

Undesirable and bothersome

Angry little Becky

Deadbeat and unkempt

Sad eyes screaming out

From beneath broken bones and

Swollen lips

I suppose it’s

My fault I don’t

Take more time to

Explain to folks that

I’m not an angry depressed

Selfish sabotaging

Self-loathing weak willed idiot

Goddamnit I’m sick

I have problems you don’t

I just fucking wish

You’d talked to me

Like I was your friend

You’ve given me no choice

Now I’m your ex

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