Fuck you, world

I'm angry. I'm angry because I want someone else to be fulfilled and normal. I'm angry that everything is 100 times harder for me. I'm angry that it can come easier to others and they laugh and toy with it simply because they can. I don't even get one chance. everyone has a learning curve, but mine will come late if at all. I want my mother to get rid of that old dollhouse because it mocks me; honestly, the likelihood of me ever having children is slim to none without a penis. I am sad to give up dreams of relationships and love, but there is nothing I can do when nobody wants me.

Looking at old playlists is similar to looking at old photographs of yourself.
I manage to capture who I was and what I was feeling with every mess of songs:
In love, hopeful, miserable, imprisoned; they're all there.

And now I am at the edge of a precipice yet again, staring into the wild unknown and wondering how I did come to find myself here.
It is not as if cannot remember what has happened--that history is stored deep in my internal hard drive just as surely as my last playlist.
But unlike all of my musical madness, my life doesn't have a designated theme, a predictable order, or, God forbid, the foresight of what is coming next.


I just don't know how this is going to turn out.
I keep forgetting that I'm in charge, that it's up to me.