Motivations

I wanted women to like me without telling me I was nothing. Unfortunately, a sex change does nothing to change who you are.

I don't remember what I wanted.

I remember that it hurts to like your own suffering. I liked it because I could always deal that need to life. (i.e., others.) Now i have to live and safely deal with the Goddess. She is beautiful. I try to give reasons to live. One is listening. Another is crying. I am about to change.

I was terrible because I wanted to be a crone.

That is the pain of life when you want to please cold boring foolish people. These people include what I feel are me. I preached dreams of safety. This means I have to live for a woman who was my poetic failure: Shaida.

She was poetic for me.

She liked the safety of life with my poems (needs, feelings, farcical saving anger).

When you like to claim why there's need, you have to listen to peace.

This is part of what love became and what I worried about as a punk.

She wondered what was love. I knew that she would give me answers.

I think she did dream of love. I dreamed of happiness. I hate my needs.

If you ever want to give me love, I will change dreams. I will change what I do. That means I will live with the pain of being a blogger. (Not, fool, poet, flame, dream, clone, blond, fat, bland, glandular sheriff).

Best hope is to live for a homosexual named wisdom.

I want to like myself. I failed to make love with this person's needs. I am Julia Murray. I am a lean pest.

You deal with woman. I'll live as my proud closet fag. (woman)
Rome leaves a possible failure. (vinegar)

This post doesn't convey the injuries that have made life so mean.

I plowed the shame with love.