hello everyone. This is the last message I’ll probably ever post. Trump won. I can’t be nonbinary, my poor woman body staked across and hung across the rope of the men who decided its not my place to be different.
I never thought I’d make it to sixteen years old. Now I’m wishing I never did.
I’m going to die by the hands of rapists, racists, and clowns who never took off their costumes.
My name is Gianna. My name is Gianna. Don’t forget it. Don’t forgive the men of this world. My name is Gianna.
I won’t live past this. Is this where my life gets me? No longer a heartbeat to my soul, vomit in my throat.
If I can’t live in the US, I’ll live in the sea—cold body floating and casted by the wind.
Am I running out of time? Will I get to the other side peacefully? Will I be cooed on by my grandma and hugged by the dead spirit of my mother? The one who saw woman’s hardships and HAD BEEN THROUGH IT, and decided to vote for the same man who’s doing it to every other woman?
Will my body be sold for parts—to the men who are the same as any other man in the US?
I don’t think I’ll survive by these men.
This is Gianna. Don’t forget it.
Or Atlas. I like Atlas.
I don’t think they’ll let me keep it though, like I’m not allowed to keep my rights.
Goodnight.
