Do you become your illness?
Or do our deformities unmake us?
Evaporating hopes,
At the vaunted successes of good luck.
What cosmic birth lottery,
Do I have to burn down –
To ensure no one ever lives my life,
In duplicate?
Atlas shrugged.
I’ll kick the shit out of him.
Sisyphus too.
Prometheus,
Though…
I demand to go free.
Same as all the others,
For penance is not eternal.
Kind hearts,
Can be cultivated from the darkest of seeds.
Which is better?
That tormenting question.
Draconic insight.
To be born good?
Or overcome our own evil natures,
Through great effort?
Is this neurodivergence,
An evil to overcome?
Or a monster,
To be tamed?
What’d it mean to shackle myself,
To the ideals,
Or expectations of others?
There’re a hundred thousand questions,
Yet so rarely any answers.
Most fools brave enough to speak,
Retch ignorance as gospel.
Or faith as fact.
Misshapen ears,
Tags of flesh.
Brain,
Most of all.
Cosmic Birth Lottery.
