To Those Who Talk

I don't usually rant. But that's the point: I had to get this off my chest. A word to those who have bullied and judged me throughout my teens.

To Those Who Talk

Let me confront the meaningless rumours between us: the demons.

I won’t deny I am the mocking-pin, your pin-cushion of prejudice:

I cannot tame my curls –

But better if I do not try so (for trying makes a meaner person of myself)

Because I would become what I hate the most,

That darkened dweller of a black heart. Or worse? A blank-faced emptiness,

An emptiness worse than that of my own broken, mended heart,

But what we all become when we lose touch.

And I did lose touch.

I will not become it…not at these times.

But at least I had a reason to be manic with joy (even when it was a remarked-upon joy):

I had a splendid chance of happiness. Let us forget that I have missed it. Again.

I love in two directions, but I see no shame in that way.

Neither do I see a shame in my archaic nature – my spirit was born in the eighties, after all;

And my heart belongs to the children I have yet to conceive –

Is that my fate? I still wonder it with fear.

Maybe I should be full of pity for you:

You cannot understand what it is to draw a line over and over, semi-perfectionist,

Mirror me if you dare.

Pity belongs to the brave (could I be called that? You would disagree),

And is dished out to those pain-givers themselves.

Yet, I can see what I am in your eyes: a crime. I do those crimes.

It is not easy to admit that my defeat is my only pride and concealment:

It is not easy to remain beyond the barrier of falling –

Oh, yes, I have fallen. I know you know.

Once when my eyes were set,

The second time to rid myself of the darkness. I don’t want this brewing darkness.

This anger without regard for humanity’s breath.

But I am split two ways. Does that not surprise you all?

That I would begin to use my logical thoughts to hypothesis.

So what if I jump through symptoms?

I may be a hypochondriac –

I may not.

I am the only one to know of the ineffable fires in my mind,

The way my voice forever screams wordlessly,

And to bear intelligence, it burns.

Yet, all you out there, with your talk,

You have forgotten – no, you forget – morality in the stroke of a brush,

Whilst I carry it upon my wings;

Every day my inner soul is torn, in agony for loving beyond the status quo.

I must be a guardian, to care, but it is this way I accomplish the set task.

You should know it is no solution for happiness. Instantly.

But you do not.

I have hated myself and been hated; I have loved myself for the same bitter reward;

The tongues, they fume over and over, simply because I am not to their liking.

Don’t you think I would remove the videos if I could? I was told to die because of them.

I may be society’s fool,

But don’t get me confused with my best friend,

The epitome of my worst enemy;

I still possess my hereditary name,

I am still Sumner’s Angel.

The End

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