I detest the act of selling myself.
I make incredible art.
Even in poverty,
Healing of old trauma,
Attacks on my character.
I don’t do any of this for you.
Spent 28 years of my life pretending for others,
Masking who I was.
Hiding in plain sight.
No more.
I have endured too much.
Witnessed enough nightmares.
Suffered mountains of pain.
Who the fuck are you,
To judge someone like me?
Fuck off!
Survivor.
First,
Foremost.
I will outlast every single one of you.
Stare death in the face,
Taunt her with vim,
And vinegar.
This body,
Has seen better years.
Worse years.
I have seen terrors,
You would wither from.
Curl into a ball and weep,
In horror.
I do this for me,
Not for you.
Don’t dare think otherwise.
You have no idea how well,
I have mastered the arts,
Of vanishing without a trace.
How many people I have escaped,
Never saw me again.
How many people I have ground into dust and ash.
Had to learn mercy,
When the universe would have made me,
A tyrant.
A despot.
A warlord.
Machiavellian.
Dictator.
Overlord.
I resisted.
I continue to rebel.
I will never submit to the monster,
Inside me.
I will not become what they made me out to be.
Treating disabilities like an infection,
Making me out to be an animal,
A beast,
A monster.
Violent.
Brutish.
Savage.
Retarded,
Stupid,
Weird,
Strange.
Been bullied,
Gaslit.
Had to put people down,
For trying to hurt me.
To prove something.
Prove what?
That you’re better than the fucked up kids?
Because you thought you could kick my ass.
I’m sick,
And tired,
Of bullies.
Petty,
Small-minded simpletons.
Playing at being strong,
To stroke and ego.
Beating others into submission,
Through words and will,
If not with fists.
I have been treated like shit,
For most of my life.
I’m over it.
Giving a shit about the opinions,
Of pathetic incels.
Those so steeped in the status quo,
They could not think themselves,
Beyond.
A.
Cardboard.
Box.
I have worn a thousand masks.
You can barely stand,
As a single personality.
I don’t make any.
Single.
Opus.
For you.
I do all of this for me.
I am tired of idiots,
Petty tyrants.
Trampling outliers and underdogs like me,
To climb a mound of bodies.
I despise marketing.
Because I will not shill falsehoods,
About who I am.
Or what I can do.
One day…
You will wake up,
See some of my plans,
Come to fruition.
One day…
You will wonder,
How I came to rule the world,
To gift it all away,
To those I found worthy.
One day…
You will only be able to watch from afar.
I act as Anubis.
Figure out the fucking metaphor yourselves.
I would like to surround myself,
With the clever.
The true.
The honorable.
The honest.
What do I want?
Ha.
To be understood.
To surround myself with love.
After lifetimes of hatred.
To not have to translate my infinities,
Into drivel,
For the slack-jawed to scorn,
In their ignorant misunderstanding.
Declare as strange,
Because they lack the intellect,
Vision,
To imagine what I offer.
I’m just a beat up,
Stupid,
Logger.
Sure.
Go ahead.
Underestimate.
I’m good at playing the fool.
The typecasting never stopped.
Eventually you get good at pretending.
I don’t do this for you.
For the first time in my life,
I’m living for myself.
Go ahead.
Call me whatever the fuck you want.
Narcissist.
Retard.
Fucked up.
Broken.
Damaged.
Scorned.
Heard it all.
Been abandoned.
Betrayed.
Abused.
I don’t do this for you.
I could give two shits,
What you think.
Most of you,
Can’t hear ambient electricity.
Read intent like a signpost.
Factor hundreds of variables at once.
These powers?
Treated me like I was trash.
My differences,
Viewed as flaws.
Deformities.
Mutant,
Or,
Savant?
Blood curse,
Or,
Hereditary?
No.
I’m not a narcissist,
For believing in my abilities.
For speaking the truth,
About what I’m capable of.
Don’t do this for you.
Fuck you.
Fuck your opinions.
Fuck your approval.
I.
DON’T.
DO.
THIS.
FOR.
YOU.
I do this for me.
Making up for lost time.
How many decades did I lose?
Trying to please assholes like you?
Begging on hands and knees,
For even the barest of acceptance?
A modicum of respect?
Well,
Guess what?
Millennia from now,
Scholars will wonder…
How,
Like Gogh,
Was he so prolific?
How couldn’t they see,
What he was truly seeking,
To achieve?
Why?
Why?
Why?
I will be dead.
Ash and stardust.
I’m no fool.
This mortality is finite.
People like me?
We’re supposed to die young.
The statistics dictate our fates.
Working dead end,
“Essential” jobs.
Until the years are scraped from our flesh,
Until the scars become too heavy to bear –
Anymore.
The scholars will dissect it all.
Pick through my epitaphs,
Like this one.
People like me?
We live like overclocked computers.
Destined to burn out.
Aging at five times the rate,
Of the averages.
Mean and medians.
Science has dictated to us as such.
I don’t do this for you.
I do this for them.
The unborn,
Downtrodden.
Outcasts.
Marginalized.
Look me in the eye,
Tell me.
If I can be robbed of decades,
When the clock is already,
At doomsday.
Half a hourglass,
At best?
Watch me strive.
Struggle.
Succeed.
What the fuck are you doing?
You who has the privilege of time?
Of lifetime?
Of majority?
Who the fuck,
Are you,
To judge me?
I would eat you for breakfast.
Scatter you across continents,
Like smashed lego towers.
Of course I’m fucking angry.
I’ve lived my whole life,
Picked apart,
By dumbasses like you.
Questioned.
Peeled.
Poked.
Prodded.
Because you,
The great majority!
Decided I was beneath you.
Wrong.
For seeing things beyond your tiny vision.
I see you.
Lurking in the shadows,
Watching me from afar.
You’re pathetic.
Trying to bring me down,
Because you could never even hope,
To lift yourself up.
Bring it on.
I am the greatest hunt.
I told you what this cowl means.
What this cloak represents.
What these metaphors teach.
It’s not my fault if you’re too stupid,
To read the parables,
Between the lines.
I don’t do this for you.
I do this for me.
You bet I’m pissed off.
I will not be used.
Ever again.
Good.
Get angry too.
Hate me.
Despise me.
Fight me.
Fool.
I’m a pacifist.
I can’t touch you.
Part of why you still can’t win.
I don’t do this for you.
I will grow.
Evolve.
Adapt.
Become.
Hell,
Even if I die now,
I’ve still won.
And I’ll mock you in death!
Fuck off.
I will decimate you,
Merely for the ratio of milliseconds,
I will gain in not having to deal with you.
More time I can give to those who deserve me.
More time to simply exist,
As myself.
What a gift!
Even a day.
Even a month.
Even a year.
I’ve only been alive for two.
Every second is precious.
I’m tired of giving them,
To fuckheads like you.
For free.
Would rather seek freedom,
Pretending to be an old dead mythology,
Teaching lessons to those –
Eager to listen.
To learn.
To grow.
I don’t do all this for you.
In my youth,
I used to.
But not anymore.
I do all this for them.
Those that show me…
Love
Care,
Kindness.
Devotion.
Truth.
Growth.
Honor.
More.
Fuck you.
Fuck them.
That’s the hilarious ending to all this rage!
The idea,
You could ever keep up with me,
In the fucking first place.
