Yep.
I’m fucked up.
Told my whole life,
I was “dark.”
As if Major Depression could manifest,
In purest joy.
As if the trauma & abuse,
Wasn’t gaslit into nonexistence,
By covert narcissists.
“Do you want to be better,
Than you were yesterday?”
I meant it.
Lost.
Adrift.
Evil,
As they said.
Typecast as the antagonist,
So much I quit live theatre.
Quit acting scripted stuff entirely.
Eventually,
When you’re painted with the same brush,
Long enough?
You try to subvert it –
Adopt it as your own.
I’ve always been the villain,
I guess.
Am I responsible,
For my traumas?
What part,
Is the internalized self loathing?
Could never love myself,
Really.
No matter how much I try.
Too much emotional baggage.
That’s why I despise people,
Who accuse me of ever trying to play hero.
Fuck them.
I’m the villain.
They told me so themselves.
From a societal standpoint?
Makes sense.
I’ve always been fighting the system,
From establishment,
To social norms.
For Oligarchs,
Christians,
That 50% of North American populations?
I’m the devil incarnate.
Queer.
Neurodivergent.
My titles.
My records.
They all mean nothing to them.
They see a nail;
Needing to be driven down.
I AM the villain,
To them.
A threat to their way of life.
Demanding education,
Over ignorance.
Critical thought & quantitative data,
Empirical method,
Over mere faith & scripture.
They think a god is going to save them.
When it’s me,
Trying to deprogram indoctrination.
Villain,
Remember?
Never a hero.
I’ve always said:
“The Heroes are all dead.
Only us villains,
Left to pick up the pieces.”
Trying to save my planet from extinctions –
Like a naive little fool.
Lost in philosophy;
As if those that deem me a monster,
Beast,
Demon,
Aren’t ignorant to such disciplines.
Accused of everything;
From not knowing consent –
Via people who have never dated,
To a criminal,
Or predator,
Because I paint my nails black.
In honour of the anarchist punks,
Who came before me.
Breaking gender norms,
Is evil too,
Remember?
Calling me a pedophile,
When I’m actually asexual.
But if I were to list the atrocities,
Of bigotry,
Or ignorance,
We’d be here all day.
Suffered enough,
To know Buddhism’s principles,
Of multiple darts,
Or divine sufferings.
I’m barely alive.
Why should suffering make me grateful?
To somebody who craves death,
Like me,
Everything is suffering.
My only peace in this hellscape,
Of modern reality?
Is fighting to be better.
Waging war on true evil,
In mockeries of fighting fire,
With fire.
Only villains can kill villains,
After all.
Isn’t that supposed to be the case?
If I’m damned already…
Then I should use such a position.
Go down swinging,
With all this fortitude I’ve built up.
Fist Knuckle Tactics.
Hard Knuckle Tactics.
Like the pugilist I was,
Before swearing oaths of Pacifism –
Bound by rare exceptions:
Defending myself,
Or the weak.
Sport or challenge,
As another.
Who else,
But a villain,
Can stand alone?
I’ve always been alone.
What else is new?
Taking on the whole world,
In a scrap.
Enduring nothing,
I haven’t seen before.
Never call me a Hero.
Those don’t exist.
But villains like me,
Do.
Outcasts & exiles,
From the norms of Humanity.
Burning down the empires,
Of capitalists,
Until we’re all free.
Opaque Vaudeville Villain Representations.
