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4579Xx
1 775 M Little Steps
Wannabe poet
PathStep 14 Compassion hearts144 Forum posts34 Forum upvotes92 Current upvotes92 Age GroupTeen Last activeMay, 2026 Member sinceMarch 12, 2025
Bio

I like to read and write. Specifically poetry. I'm here if you need to talk about anything. <333

I'm female.



Recent forum posts
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How are you supposed to know what your sexuality is?
LGBTQ+ / MOGII Support / by 4579Xx
Last post
 November 12th, 2025
...See more So I’ve been questioning myself lately and it’s kinda stressing me out. I don’t really know if I’m gay or not. Like, I’ve liked and dated both men and women before, but when I imagine my future, I usually picture myself with a man… except when I think about marrying a woman, it just seems so much better. I think part of me wants to believe I’m straight because that’s what would make my family happiest. But honestly, I can feel it eating at me. I can like guys, and I’ll date them, but I lose interest so fast—it’s weird. When I date a girl, though, I don’t lose that feeling. Everything feels more exciting and real. I feel that spark I always expect to feel with guys but never really do. I haven’t dated a ton of people, but I’ve noticed I kind of force myself to flirt with guys because that’s just what everyone else does. When I see lesbians online I’m like, “yeah, I want that,” and then I turn off my phone and start overthinking everything again. Also… I have a Pinterest board full of cute gay couples, my friend’s super boy-crazy and I can’t really relate, and my main playlist? Mostly lesbian songs (like Girls by Girl in Red lol). Idk, I guess I’m just confused and trying to figure myself out. If anyone’s been through something similar, how did you know?
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Poems about more triggering topics. Please include warnings.
Poetry / by 4579Xx
Last post
 August 25th, 2025
...See more TW: hints at SA I was little. Too little to name it— but little enough to know that my pink shorts shouldn’t have met my knees while I was asleep. Old enough to pretend I didn’t feel it. To keep my eyes closed like silence could save me. Like stillness could undo what was being done. I didn’t have the words— just the weight. The knowing. The heat in my cheeks that didn’t come from sunlight. And after, the world kept moving. Cartoons still played. Cereal still crunched. No one noticed that I flinched when the door clicked shut. They called me shy. Sensitive. Quiet. But I was just carrying too much for someone so small. And now, years later, I still sleep curled up like I’m hiding something. Because I am. A moment. A memory. A wrong Done so quietly it almost passed as nothing. But it wasn’t nothing. It was me, learning too early what it means to be afraid in your own skin.
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I want to be a poet, Is that anyone else's dream?
Poetry / by 4579Xx
Last post
 September 30th, 2025
...See more You had me and left. Easy. Like skipping a track on a playlist. I was just a heartbeat you helped make, then dropped like a cigarette on the sidewalk. Mom raised me in smoke and screams. She picked Chance— the man who played nice until he wasn’t. Ten years of war behind closed doors. And me? I was nine with scars I gave myself because I didn’t know how else to scream without getting in trouble. Then you show up. Zak. Biological. That’s all you’ll ever be. Texted like everything was fine— like you hadn’t missed birthdays, breakdowns, me learning how to hate my own skin. I meet you, and you judge my shoes. Spiderman drawn in Sharpie— because it made me feel like maybe I was still a kid. You looked at them like trash. Like I was trash. You sized me up against your new life, your sporty step-kids, your girlfriend with her smile. And I didn’t match. Too quiet. Too weird. Too much of the past you never wanted to face. You poked at my clothes, my food, my softness. Like I was clay you could mold into a version you’d finally accept. But I’m not your project. And I’m not your second chance. I bled. I burned. I survived. Without you. So don’t you dare act like you’re here now and that should be enough. You don’t get to call me daughter just because we share blood. That title’s earned. And you? You were never even in the running.
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I want to be a writer, Is that anyone else's dream?
Reading & Writing / by 4579Xx
Last post
 March 26th, 2025
...See more I wrote this hoping others would relate...Its called: World, Forget Me (I am not in danger) TW: Hints at suicide The sun had barely risen when I stood at the edge of the cliff, my feet balanced on the precipice, staring out at the endless sea. The world, vast and unfathomable, stretched before me, indifferent to my existence. I wondered if it would even notice when I was gone. World, forget me. I had whispered those words to myself in the quiet moments of the night, when the weight of the past seemed unbearable, when all the mistakes, all the regrets, pressed upon my chest like a stone. There had been a time when I mattered—when I was someone people knew and cared about. But that had slipped away, as time has a habit of doing. Relationships faded. Faces blurred. Memories slipped into the haze. The breeze whipped through my hair, and I could feel the chill in the air, the salt from the sea stinging my skin. The world didn’t need me. And, in truth, I didn’t need it either. I had been broken too many times, discarded, overlooked, and then left behind. I had come to terms with the idea that I was a speck in the grand universe—insignificant, small, and soon to be forgotten. My phone buzzed in my pocket, pulling me back from my thoughts. A message. I hesitated for a moment, then pulled it out. A simple message from an old friend, someone I hadn't spoken to in years: "Are you okay?" I stared at the screen. Was I okay? Was I ever okay? I wanted to type something, anything to explain. To reach out, to say, "No, I’m not okay," but my fingers didn’t move. The words felt too heavy to say. Too much of a burden to place on anyone. They wouldn’t understand. None of them ever did. Instead, I typed something that wasn’t true: "I'm fine. Don't worry about me." I hit send, then stared at the screen for what felt like hours, waiting for a response that would never come. I knew it was pointless. People came and went. That’s how life worked. The world wouldn’t remember me in any meaningful way. Not my name, not my face, not even the sound of my voice. I wasn’t important. And maybe that was for the best. I took a deep breath, feeling the wind against my skin, letting it fill my lungs. The world, vast as it was, had no memory of me—nor would it ever. But in that moment, I felt a strange sense of peace. Because if the world forgot me, then I could finally forget myself too. I could disappear without a trace, without anyone caring. I could leave behind all the pain, all the scars, all the burdens that had tied me to this place, this time, this life. A gust of wind blew across the cliff, and I closed my eyes, embracing the cold. I took one last look at the horizon, the world stretching infinitely before me, both beautiful and cruel. And I stepped forward.
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