My mentality feels deceived, coerced, and maltreated,
however still experiences loyalty toward those I odium.
For some reason, I nevertheless love the shrill ones,
discourteous ones, deceitful ones, horrid ones, and I still
discover myself striving tough for their appreciation.
With a fragile body and shattered spirit, I nonetheless
march on, optimistic that perhaps tomorrow,
they will become conscious the sorrow they initiate.
I’m constantly pulled under, swept beneath the bowels of
narcissism, and becoming a living martyr
of an egocentric and gratuitous war.
Because I am the catalyst, I sustain additional impairment than
anyone else, habitually the butt of a wounding joke, yet
still not grasping the punch line.
In spite of my labors to be detected,
I observe myself not wanting to be,
just craving to be in the shadows of a civil incivility,
ending up just an added number in the ranks
of a substandard continuation, fueled by gluttony and arrogance.
I realize my continuation monotonous and contemptible
of existing, yet at the same time, I sense that I am sought
after and desired, furthermore motivated
by an ardent aspiration to establish to every thunderous,
offensive, and two-faced rival
that I am not just another jest in the cosmic
comedy club, that I am genuine in my endeavors, and that I
am not what they consider me to be, the catalyst,
the cheap shot, but that I am and forever was,
superior to the recognition I was granted.