sometimes transphobia is beautiful

my life ended the day i saw that pink, maybe purple-haired, “girl”.
the cute one, the one with the big eyes, the one wearing the kawaii nurse’s outft,
the short one, the one drawn with the thin lines, the one that seemed alive but wasn’t.

she was guiding her panties down her irreal legs – “time for an injection”, she says.
haha, get it? it’s because the nurse has a dick! puerile. puerile, it was, but
it was lost on my mature-for-my-age, growing-up-too-fast, wears-button-ups-at-13 brain.

i don’t think i even saw her cock, but subconsciously i saw it, gleaned it from the innuendo.
gender didn’t even matter, bro, it’s just a drawing, really it’s just some ones and zeros that
jacked into my teenage brain and made me jack of because i’m not gay, that doesn’t make sense.

gender didn’t exist the picosecond my desktop threw injection girl up onto the clunky old CRT.
zeptoseconds afer i came – this was when i was young and still able to cum – neither did mine,
obliviated into the digital gehenna of boorus and imageboards and fora ran by crusty otaku.

a national geographic article and the glurge of pornodidactic materials from cyberspace hells.
my gender ed was gleaned from the trash of society, the neets, the worthless unproductive
consoomers, the scum that clogs the disposal of modernity, and one (1) medical oddity.

every tranny is my sister, and brother, i’m a siscon.