The birdhouse outside my window is swinging, swinging, and I feel awful--I keep forgetting to fill the feeder with food; I miss the sounds of their beaks and feathers and little clawed feet tapping at my window, sometimes they'd just sit there and let me look at them, sometimes they were my friends. I hope they found somewhere else to eat, I hope they come back when I finally fill it up.

And flashbacks to back when we talked! I still have false confidence in my charms to this day, but I think now that maybe you were just bored and I was just there (it's the classic relationship of the teenage years). Oh well, I'd rather believe I'm dashing. 

I've got a girly name, girly voice when I get excited, and even though I shove my hands into my pockets and hunch my shoulders forward, I can't hide my chest. I haven't shaved my legs in a while, to be honest. You can think what you want of that, I don't care. And I haven't worn a dress in longer. I just don't want to be stuck with "female," even on the days when it would be alright. Maybe if I try hard enough, I'll fool them; maybe I'll be handsome. (Unlike the pants and genderless clothing, the leg hair isn't necessarily for sake of my manliness; I just give zero fucks. And I'm lazy.) 

I don't think of my wedding day, ever. I just want someone to sleep with, mostly in the innocent sense of the phrase. I just want someone around. I don't care about dresses and flowers, I don't care about grooms. Even when I was little, I never saw myself in white. (Maybe in a tux.) This isn't sad, why do people act like this is sad? I don't much like weddings.

... I should fill the bird-feeder.