Well, you didn't like the new story,
so you came for me,
even though at that point, all I knew was literally
that there had once been 55 plays,
and the Portuguese Amateur Dramatic Company.
And I wasn't even an amateur yet
at understanding projection, and abuse, and ISD.
You made me your own worst nightmare.
You probably should have talked to my students more, really;
they would have definitely told you
"oh yeah. Mr Wong calls it
a self-fulfilling prophecy."
So if we discredit Kevin Martens
and make it seem like he can't get published
because he is so volatile, and mercurial, and constantly getting angry;
well, we'll finally have ourselves
an almost, miniscule, infinitesimal
first non-zero step
on the road to an actual
victory
someday,
over our own tragedies
and our refusal to see reason,
and rationality:
that no one wants to listen to you anymore.
Not the millennials, not Gen Alpha and not Gen Z.
We have better things to do,
like not wage wars,
not treat people we love like they will inevitably betray us all,
and to trace our family and planetary histories
before the fall
that, honestly, at this rate,
it is becoming clear you instigated.
I honestly never fucking cared
until you literally engendered abuse against me,
and now I am baited
and I bite, every time.
I love it when your hook, especially,
tries to slide between my thighs
without my consent.
And even more importantly,
without any of my interest.
As you go on trying to suffocate my voice,
I go on, too,
daily expressing my choice
to tell the whole world about you,
and your sad little plans to foist
your fears onto me.
Your sad little two-hundred-year old plans
to prove, only to yourself,
your high, very creatively defined rationality.
And yeah ---
I'm irrationally generous, and kind.
So here is another 16 conference abstract acceptances, 32 poems,
and, most graciously,
yet another one of your insightful pre-emptive finds:
yet another gratuitous picture
of my non-binary, bicentenniallified
body.
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