This Is Not Poem, This Is Cry For Help

Ignoring those slaughters, as if there were none. But one of your daughters Were always son. Simce pre-school, hating all girl toys, Even though he acted like a fool, Always was one of the boys. Confused child, With mess in his head. Worthless maybe kinda wild, Fantasising about his death. How lovely, I want to find peace. Honestly I don't think I can. I wish seken would not call me "miss" I wish I could be 'real man' Nothing. Just ignorance. Humanity is organisation filled with idiots. Cause they don't let me finish one sentence. They ask questions, but in the end they write dots. I'm tired. I want to cry. Im not sane, can't see no consequence. I think would kill myself, and die. I think I would, if I had a chance. I would drown myself down the river, I would feel the cold water, as it soaks my clothes. I would feel comfortable, I wouldn't shiver, My hair would feel easy as it floats. What? No I'm not writing about my own suicide. It feels like speaking to the deaf people, that are dead. So please, step aside, And forget everything I said.