I have robbed myself of my identity.
Somehow, in the midst of red and passing breathy texts, I have only put to sale a few characteristics.
There, the people wander back a forth between certain ones...
This is not what I am really like.
Peter, as I have claimed to be, is a boy who values nudes and kinky texts messages
But Peter is actually the guy who stopped watching The Walking Dead because he got nightmares.
He often sits on his bed, not moving for hours and somehow manages to find the vigor to reconcile with orphans of love and pain.
He knows all too well, what it feels like to force a bargain.
"Peter, tell me a story about being a guy."
Forcing an identity. One that doesn't even fit correctly.
Because Peter is actually a girl, and writes out every piece of the day, or at least what is worth remembering and translating to poetry
He cannot find a way out,
Somehow the name has become stitched to his heart and maybe, maybe it's to blame the father that said, "If that baby is a boy, I'm naming it Peter."
Peter is girl.
But Peter pretends to value aesthetics and singers whose outfit is louder than song...
He can't breath through all this red, he has only himself to blame.
