Rita Ora With A Chrome Dinosaur Spine, 2023

Make me.

Yeah, yeah. I heard the song and dance. I get it. You're here to make my life better because you're wonderful, because you just care that fucking much.

Make me.

Yeah, that's right. I'm not able to stop you- I don't think I can, physically or otherwise. But I'm not going along with this bullshit just because a pretty face asked with a smile. I made it through a lot before you got here, and I don't need someone else running the last few yards of the race on 'my behalf' and taking the credit for the whole damn thing. If you want to help me that much, if you want to say you saved me? You're going to have to fucking earn it.

So Make me.

Make me want what you're offering. You talked a big game about doing what's right for me, even when I don't want it. You've got drugs on you right now that could fix my gender dysphoria, that could finally get the intrusive thoughts and constant anxieties to sit down and shut up. You could melt my brains out of my skull, throw me into a brilliant hurricane of pleasure and joy, surround me in a cocoon of your vines. You can ignore me when I get defensive, when I lie to your face and try to push you away, when I say one thing but desperately need another.

Things like, 'I don't want any of that.' Things like, 'I'm not tired. I'm not in pain. I haven't forgotten how to let another help me like that.'

So make me.

maybe i can feel better.

Trans girls will do anything except go to bed at a reasonable hour.

We’ll lie in bed staring at the ceiling, scrolling through old messages, overanalyzing every compliment we’ve ever received like they’re sacred texts. We’ll sit in front of the mirror at 2 AM, whispering sweet affirmations to our reflection, testing out new names under our breath just to see how they feel.

We’ll get lost in the glow of our screens, reading sapphic love stories, fantasizing about a world where we don’t have to explain ourselves—where a girl calls us hers without hesitation, without doubt. We’ll try on that one perfect outfit in the dead of night, twirling in the dim light of our room, feeling beautiful in a way we never let ourselves during the day.

We’ll stay up because sleep means letting go, and we’re not ready for that. Not when there’s still so much of ourselves to discover, to claim. Not when the night feels like the only time we can be unapologetically us.

Or maybe, just maybe, we’re staying up because we know she’s awake too. Somewhere out there, another restless trans girl is doing the same thing—scrolling, dreaming, waiting. And if we reach out, if we’re bold enough to send that late-night message, maybe we’ll both have a reason to sleep a little easier.

But not yet. Not tonight. There’s still too much to want, too much to feel.

And besides, who needs sleep when we could be whispering our deepest desires into the quiet of the night, where no one but the stars can hear?

I’m the big bad mean transgirl that thinks she’s the boss, until a bigger, badder, and meaner transgirl walks in, pushes me down, and puts me in my place 🥴🥴

lesbian tgirl culture is wondering why you feel gay as a teenager when youre not even attracted to men

not to sound like a whore, but can we go to an aquarium date?

The way I inject my estrogen wearing only a loose bra and pyjama pants before falling asleep with my cute little plushies is just full of the exaggerated swagger of a trans girl.

Do you see my vision

god damn it I just read Human Domestication Guide and now I have to play stellaris, the hot plant women have got to me

whatever. go my scarab