every picture is a story

why is it so hard to be me? why can’t i freely love? i spend my life hiding from my true desire and emotions… repressing the physical need is easy, like fasting after few hours you are no more hungry, i learn the fasting too early when my father looked at my face and say are you sure you want a dessert, you have fat cells on your face. i don’t think he knew how much impact his mockery impressed on my future life, if he knew then he is a real ass, i love my family without liking them much. i give them credit for trying to make me acceptable to the society i was interacting with, interacting because i early knew i didn’t belong. my need of affection was toward the wrong kind of people. so i repressed, i am good at self control, you have to when you risk the gallows. i didn’t hide in shame, just quietly angry, not frustrated simply detached emotionally. i read a lot about my people and how some decide to end it, but i am too curious, i want to know how my substance may eventually sublimate. i don’t want to choose what i may become, i want my natural evolution without being bent by what they call normality. one day i was called immoral, what a strong word for a natural product of humanity, how life itself could be called perverted. they judge the one originating from the same core based on opaque references they decided to follow in a book written so long ago. i am sure we have been always here, i read in the old texts people like me existed even before their book. against evolution they say, when they reject the same concept the following day. i do love them but can’t find the strength of liking them. maybe one day.