honeymoonfadingwithyou

[honeymoonfadingwithyou]

i don’t think i’ll ever be enough. those people in their phone are prettier than i’ll ever be. i can’t compete. my face doesn’t hold a single place in the memory of their device. not a photo or video downloaded in sight - not even my body. not even giving myself sexually is enough to earn a spot saved. i can photograph my body in every position and it will never deserve that much. i am just not beautiful enough.

i understand. i know this. but even so, it is sad that even love cannot lighten the burden of my appearance.

their eyes are glued to a screen, really. i don’t know if i blame them. they’re gorgeous. they could have anyone and i understand the lack of lust on my behalf.

i was not born pretty. a plastic surgeon would have an incredible time with me. i’m certain i’d thrill them. not a single piece of me would be left untouched. they could plot and plan and twist and slice.

nothing is redeemable, unfortunately. not my chin, jaw, lips, nose, face, forehead, eyebrows, eyes, undereyes, eyelids, eyelashes…

oh, if i were rich, my face would be remade. my body, too.

i am not enough visually. in fact, i am quite… negative, in that scale of numbers. my body does not help. even my sexual areas are not pleasing to the eye or mouth. my breasts are too small, my vulva is too out. my clit is too big and stretching open my labia to reveal inside my vagina is hideous.

my rib flares jut farther than my tits. my waist is not thin enough, my lovehandles are too fat. my hip dips accentuate my too-large thighs. my ass is big, in a sense, because of my weight, but not in the gorgeous way. it droops with the fat, does not look round like is desired.

my arms are too big, my hands are too chubby and small. my stomach is far too large. my calves, as well.

i am most ashamed of my face. i am not something to be proud of. i am the person you desperately hope to keep inside, to keep secret. to not let in sight of your friends for fear they will make fun of you, have you embarrassed over the monstrosity of a partner you have to parade around.

“as long as you’re happy” is the only response i would elicit.

and worst of all, i’m confusing. i look feminine, sort of. not feminine in the divine and beautiful sense, but feminine in the way i have long hair and wear dresses and makeup. but i call myself a boy. wish others to also address me as so.

what a wreck i am. what a terrible, horrible mess. what an utter disaster. waste. failure.

i am not even something to be jacked off to. i can’t even dignify a catcall, a whistle, or sexually crude leer. not even an older man looking to get a young fleshlight would consider me, glance my way.

i understand why my partner does not mention my appearance. i understand why they do not save photos, take photos - whether of face or sexual organs.

but oh… how it does hurt. to know they’re able to get off to onlyfans of women they saw on tiktok, of people they scroll and find on twitter. i will never be them. i will never be enough, not even to cum to.

isn’t it sad? to be so horribly… ugly.

when i stop and think about it, even without porn… even without nsfw content… even without regular, sfw photos of these gorgeous people on a device… i still doubt i would be in my partner’s mind. maybe an alternate version of me. one where i am very easy to look at - but that would still be a fantasy.

in all likelihood, they’d imagine other people. try to distance their mind while fucking between my legs. imagine a sweet and pretty girl instead of… well, whatever it is i am.

what a waste. i can not eat or drink all day, wear a full face of makeup, wash every crevice of my body and exfoliate, smear every square inch with lotion and perfume, run oils through my freshly washed hair so that it smells nice, stuff socks under my boobs in a push-up bra, cinch my abdomen in with a waist trainer and my tightest belt over my high-waisted jeans… and even then, i could not compare to others walking the street. i won’t ever look nearly as pretty as they do just existing in their natural state. oh, i shudder to wonder how i would look beside them if they also did the things i do to improve my appearance.

they’d look heavenly. i would look…

i don’t even want to know.

they can’t even lie to me. they called me pretty when they first met me. but when they got me, it instantly stopped. the chase to get me was over, so the flattery (lies) were no longer necessary. the painful act to pretend i am desirable beyond being a toy and therapist is finally completed.

here i am, pouring my love and giving my sex.

i look so fuckinf ugly man. i cant stand it. i’m so tired of being this… disgusting. im revolting and i don’t get how someone can look this awful.

again, i should say i DONT blame them. it makes me sad, but i’m very used to it. i UNDERSTAND why they do. god, i’d need a break if i had to live with me, look at me, deal with my existence. but it just sucks to not be enough naturally like anyone else could. i really really wish i could be that attractive, beautiful, pretty, hot, lovely, gorgeous, cute, sexy, handsome, anything anything at all… i’d give so much to look even halfway decent. it would be such an improvement and oh, how i crave it.

it’s not their fault at all. i’d scroll twitter and pornhub and tiktok and onlyfans and whatever else needed to scrub my image from the brain.

my own mother tried her best to hide my body all throughout school. it started in 6th grade. i was lectured about the importance of wearing dark colors to appear smaller, thinner, lighter. baggier clothes to hide that unflattering shape of mine. no shorts, no tank tops, not even in summer. hoodies and jeans. yes, even during recess. black oversized hoodie, dark and baggy jeans. long hair to hide the sides of your face as you walk so that you might not flash a poor soul with the sight of even a sliver of your profile.

wretched. what a wretched mass of flesh i am.

[honeymoonfadingwithyou]

i hope i die tonight. i hope i am taken in my sleep. i think the three in my life would be far happier and thrive. i believe this is the best for us all. i wish them great luck and peace in the future.

[honeymoonfadingwithyou]

i have to scrape teeth and bone to forget you, to occupy my mind with something else for a few seconds of the day.

it seems you have to fight to remember me.

[honeymoonfadingwithyou]

i always have to text first. i have to beg for your attention. do you not know how exhausting that is? to give my all, only to receive scraps in return?

you give me leftovers—i give you my meals and i starve.

[honeymoonfadingwithyou]

for once, can i be someone’s favorite? please…

[honeymoonfadingwithyou]

i wonder how many things you think about before you get to me.

[honeymoonfadingwithyou]

how am i so forgettable? i could pay thousands to rent a spot in your mind and i’d still manage to be shelved on the lowest level, in the deepest corner.

[honeymoonfadingwithyou]

i feel as though it is a chore to love me. friends say it more easily than you. people i barely speak to will tell me ‘i love you’. but… it is as though you forget the words and i must teach you.

frankly, i cannot recall the last time you said it of your own free will. i must say it first multiple times before a response is received. it’s a gamble if you will even say it back.

95% of the time, I doubt your love. I would bleed to be shown affection by your choice. I do not want to fight for your words.

[honeymoonfadingwithyou]

i began to condition myself into a state of wanting to suffer. wishing i would be emotionally and mentally tortured so that the option of food became sickening to my tongue.

it was glorious in my mind. like i was an interactive art display in a museum and everytime an onlooker pressed my button, i would erupt in storm and cloud and ignore food for days, losing weight rapidly. and they cheered and admired my beauty —fed off of my success—while i fed off of tears.

even in turmoil, my sickness found a way to profit off of my depression. they held hands. and somehow i found joy - even if twisted - in my sadness.

[honeymoonfadingwithyou]

i feel as though i could die and you would not notice. not for days, at least.

my corpse would sit unattended at the dining table.

you’d get food in the morning and still manage to pass me by.

[honeymoonfadingwithyou]

i used to daydream that i had friends. genuinely didn’t even have acquaintances. i pretended people knew me and comforted me. i used to lay and rub my back with my own hands and close my eyes and pretend that someone else was there.

i used to talk to thin air in my mind. imagine a figure filling the empty space.

i got friends eventually. but it seems i’ve managed to lose them all over again. even my girlfriend finds better people to occupy her.

i’m just. not entertaining anymore.

that’s how it always is, isn’t it? i’m amazing for the first two months. i cater to you. i always text back in seconds. i ask about your day and shut up about mine.

but then… even my attention becomes annoying.

[honeymoonfadingwithyou]

sometimes you need to learn that you are no longer desirable. that the gloss that once coated his senses for you has washed away, been stripped by new bubbles. he is clean.

and you are not.

you are not that shiny, new thing he wanted at the start. you are no longer a meal he will beg to eat. you will be - and are - left cold on the kitchen counter until they find you the next morning and throw you away.

he does not crave your attention. he does not desire your body. what he found in you for the first two months has been replaced. your fire was sloshed out by a pail of dirty water - meanwhile he has rekindled that spark on another pair of logs.

accept that you are soaked, abandoned in the dark.

[honeymoonfadingwithyou]

i worry, sometimes, that my love for her will expand beyond the limitations of my body, that it will one day kill me with its heft

[honeymoonfadingwithyou]

i don’t understand how you don’t struggle to keep silent like i do. how can you ignore me for so long when i have to fight for so little as an hour? how can you stay away?