For years I have known my calling, but was waiting for someone to call me on it, but apparently all these positive thinking visualizing shit worked …… I decide on being a prophet and a god just manifested to take over , well guess what I am my own boss , I am not planning on working for you , and if you think that by making an appearance on my notebook I will be terrified , or the least intimidated , well think again.
I speak of virtue, not the gods, I see no divinity in grass or life in dead stones and I don’t need you to validate my existence. I perch or else, all the pain would’ve been in vain and all the melodramas would have been a mere misfortune of a soulless existence that devours attention from the nonexistent.
I recognize these words , I heard them echoing in my head countless times resonating my insecurities and playing them, my feelings, like chords of consciousness wrapped into self loathing, halting my precedence and devaluating myself worth .
Lurking into my notebook is smart, however trying to demean my words with your empty eloquence and style is a new low even for you. You have been silently pulsating these big words in my head; judging pretending and scheming, adding layers to my masks that I forgot how the real me looked like.
Every night silence spread itself tightly around me and the darkness has me surrounded crushing my thoughts and chasing my dreams dead, and all I am capable of is drinking, swigging my jolting thoughts as if it is the price I have to pay for not standing up for myself against you.
And now That I am taking matters into my own hands, you tell me about a list, a cold dispassionate list, a list created to be followed and executed as if meeking along your commands is my sole purpose in life. No I am done with lists and I am done with you.
“Himself unto himself he sold, upon himself himself did feed”