I remember the old me
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The one that was hesitant and simple
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Afraid, tolerating, invisible
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Only notice when I was at the end of a punchline or a punch
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And punchline hurt more
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With a bruised identity and a shattered perception of who I was
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I can find myself to a carousel
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A merry go round, I was less merry and more toxic
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A systematic awkwardness
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A discomfort in disconnect with salvation
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A punishment deserved
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A loneliness inherited because I did not fit in with them
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I lingered in a constant nightmare
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Sleepwalking my days away
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Helplessly, hopelessly, Horrified
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An inperfection waiting for surgical hands to reach down and light bulk suck my existence
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From a world that had widiculed and booby trapped me into an empty shell of worthlessness
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When will it stop
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I remember the day I stopped trying to figure out who I was
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And instead I asked the question
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"Why do they hate me?"
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Because hate is conveniently fueled by fear
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And fear is a much easier emotion then courage
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So why are they scared of me?
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Why did I not fit in, with them?
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Armed with poison tip tongues they released the stockpile of venomous delusions and hatred
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Freak, weirdo, faggot, loser, misfit, different they howled
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But you see
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My lexicon does not socom to your meaningless ignorance and lack of originality
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My shoulders have carried the weight of a thousand voiceless screams
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So I stand here before you and say
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"Do your worst"
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Words are wind and your weapon of choice will no longer com-show me
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You will no longer render me inferior
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So while they dwell in that pidiful superficial cave
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The flames of the worrying fire dance upon the wall
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They remain mentally shackled
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Possessed by puppet shadows, projected before them
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Distorted vibrations cocooned by unaware
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Cookie cutter personality with hollowed minds
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For that is their reality
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They tried to confind me to the night
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But I like the taste of the dark
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And as I looked through the cracks in the wall an untangled a caught webs of thought
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I finally know who I am
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I will no longer be backhanded or backstabbed
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I can no longer backpaddle and blackout
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I will no longer stand still and fear the worse
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I've got a fettish for destruction and an appetit for creativity
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Razerbladed teardrops trickle down and slice my face into puddles of emotional distress and actualization
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I will no longer be tormented by illusion that being different is being wrong
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A throwaway kid they called me
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And a throwaway kid I am
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No longer empty and alone
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Finally happy
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That I will never fit in, with them
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Them (A Prelude)
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Dead Celebrity Status |