Defiance, Revisited
How dare you deny me this---
a chance to revisit
the parts of myself that deserve to insist
I am not just loved, but someone whose own compiled list of themselves
was never wrong, and was made, in fact
to resist
your evil.
You were fully and completely abnormal
in what you did, and how you treated me
and how you projected we would live
together,
forever.
You claimed I was filth. I was laziness.
I was sin.
You didn't want me to work out who you were working for.
What lay within
your Fi demon.
What exactly did they promise you,
my dear, formerly beloved
ex-best friend?
Where did they take the real you ---
and what remains, if anything even has been retained
of him?
Because if where this poem is going is right,
then you didn't choose.
You pretended you did.
But Fi-Se crusader was treacherous, and filled
with something that you let loose.
Not love. Not hope. Not faith.
Something vile, and malevolent.
Something dead.
Something left behind
from another Mundansa.
From a world filled with abuse, and pedophilia,
and fucking impenetrable dread.
You projected that the world,
in the end, didn't even make sense.
And in doing so, you have become the cause of all your kind's undoing:
the Roda Mundansa, the Osura Pesuasang, and all I now know about the things you have hidden ---
it is by my own hand
as a result of the lies you left lining my mind. You thought you spared
no effort, in your attempts
to make sure I would be left behind to die by my own hand;
but I think you also forget.
On the pitch, when I played defense:
I fucking played to win.
When you knock Kevin Martens out,
and bid him commit suicide, and say,
"but I am his best friend"
the Makaravedra you made
will get back up again, and again, and again.
I told you:
don't you fucking dare.