Beat me the hell out of me, I'm Superman. in Musings

my mother told me to my face, “you’re fucking wealthy and your fucking poor as shit”

it’s roughly translated from Spanish.

Alex was confused about it when I spoke to him about it.
Which is expected, I’ve never known how to have money, and I only write about it because if I say it out loud I’m not a fucking tacky faggot.
But my mother said why don’t you embrace being a tacky faggot, because what you consider a tacky faggot is just a regular person.

I’m half project and poor, half soho- concierge building. I feel guilty having money. I feel guilty having grown up poor and now having money. It’s a fucking weird juxtaposition…

a boy tried to date me and said “your really beautiful, but I’ve met a lot of beautiful, vapid assholes— tell me what you like”

and that struck a chord with me, because I don’t think that I’m vapid. I’m just really guarded. I don’t need your fucking money, I don’t need anything fancy, rented cars or trying to impress me.

I just couldn’t deal with the fact that he thought that I was vapid. He said “I think you’re hot, but I’ve met hot guys like you who are empty; I’m just hoping you’re not empty”

I’m fucking weird. I’m not like the rest of the faggots in NYC. I make my own rules, I don’t care about them—at the same time I do care about them.

Alex had all of these amenities for me. I had a car service from Alex. I had an unlimited tab. I had all of the dreams you can think of in my ear—and all I could think was “you fucking hit me, I can pay to go to the Maldives by myself nigga, I grew up in the projects, you’re money means shit to me”

I didn’t say it out loud.
But I did think it. You’re fucking money doesn’t erase the black eyes or the bruises—you dirty, fucking, French bastard. You still beat the fuck out of me.

I don’t know if anyone knows the extent of how he would beat me and psychologically make me feel like I had no other alternative.

He would fucking beat me like I was in the UFC. The only way he stopped fucking me up was when I was crying, weak on the floor. And I am so irritated by the boy that allowed him to treat me like I was a Mortal Kombat character.

I just tried. And now I’m very suspicious of his actions.

However, I should give him a 6th chance. I have a custom made diamond ring from him.

I’m not a fucking martyr.
I just love him… I’m a boy in love. I’ve got my mind made up.

I like watching how the wind blows, let’s see how far I can get.

xoxo
Andy