WHAT YOU ARE NOT

I was often asked to be a good little boy and go and hide in the corner, swallow your questions, and eat my foolish pride. I scratched and clawed out of their plastic cage, building my castle in the sand with all my rages.

My enemies were disguised as different versions of friends today, and I can breathe, so today, it all ends. I fought many battles to find my peace, and now they are calling me off to fight the war they alone have made.

All I want is to be left alone. I am not any younger, and my voice is becoming wiser and more vital, so do I need my fist and weapons, or can I use this ancient mind of mine to fight? I want to grow old sitting on my porch in my grandfather's rocking chair with a pen and paper in my hand without care.

What you are not is a battle trying to win a pointless war. All you will be afterward is broken and with a heart and mind full of scars. What you are is the fighter, the one who will come out as the winner and everyone's hero and other people's favorite sinner. What your not see is the smile on my face as I walk with my crown on my head out of this place