Dear Me

Dear Me,

You’re right about how terrible you are. You’re right about how immature and selfish and pretentious you are. You’re a wretched little elitist goblin who is nearly as stunted physically as you are emotionally. You impress people with prosthetic knowledge and regurgitated trivia. Your attempts to charm through duplicity are awkward and amateur. Any attempt you have ever made at subtlety has been ham fisted, every attempt to be clever has been transparent. Your jokes fall flat; you are tolerated not because you are worth it but because you are incidentally amusing on rare occasion. Every plan and design you make is a meticulously crafted failure undone time and time again by your failure to account for variables, your achievements are accidental and incidental. You are pathetic, you seize no agency but merely allow yourself to be left at the mercy of fate and to suffer the consequences of those who are better than you and actually take control over their lives and who they are. You think you’re so much better than so many other people and yet what evidence do you have? Some fancy papers and a history of having the privilege to slack off in so-called “advanced” courses which you never take seriously but which could have made a world of difference to someone phenomenally more deserving and disadvantaged. You’re a leech, you leech resources and attention and opportunity but you give nothing back and have the gall to still think you’re any better than the lowest common denominator. You are a gutless worm, a spineless coward. You’re a poorly drawn cartoon who can only manage to engage people through hyperbole. Your feelings, your thoughts, your ideas, what is any of it based on? YOU KNOW NOTHING! And yet you allow people to believe otherwise, you let them deify you and admire you because you are such a worthless malfunctioning piece of shit. It’s the height of your arrogance except it isn’t, your smug false pride and bogus self-importance knows no limit but has no basis and holds no weight. God how I detest you, all of you, every ounce of you which dares consider yourself equal or human or entitled to decency. You deserve nothing, none of it. You don’t deserve your admirers or your opportunities, you don’t deserve kindness or love. You are lower than shit. You’re a coward. You are a coward who masquerades his cowardice as humility and consideration, you accommodate not because you are good but because you are terrified to act in your own self-interest. And yet you are simultaneously a selfish brat who only cares for himself and his own interests and his own problems. Even now you write yourself a letter focusing on how much you hate yourself because you’re so damn arrogant and self-absorbed and self-centered. You claim to not want to burden people and yet you constantly burden them, you are endlessly needy, never satisfied, you’re an attention hungry, greedy rat bastard piece of shit. You’re useless, you have no purpose, no meaningful aptitudes, you possess no value. Your only interests are trivial and antiquated; you are an ugly anachronism. There is no demand for you, no need, your services are no longer required. You are a wannabe, a hack, a derivative imitator blindly chasing after his idols with no understanding of the truth of their work or the reality of their struggle or the meaning of your so-called craft, YOU ARE NOTHING YOU INSGINIFICANT COCKROACH how dare you have the audacity to even begin to try to lay claim to the legacies of those who are so much greater than you. Every word you pen, every half-baked pet theory upon which you expound sullies the fields you vainly attempt to partake in. The world has no need for you or your thoughts or ideas or any of you, you are extraneous, you are a waste of personhood. Great men could have been born from your gifts, opportunities, and upbringing but all of it is wasted on you. Wasted, you are a waste, so much potential squandered on a fucking damaged pseudointellectual dwarf. You let your fear control you totally and then attempt to mask it with reason so it appears justified but it is just fear, baseless and with no legitimate cause beyond your own well deserved insecurity. You are an ant; you are incapable of comprehending your own insignificance, you are less than a grain of sand upon the beach of the cosmic coastline. You are petty and spiteful and cruel but like everything else your anger is just empty smoke without meaning or substance. You are a nothing.

This poem is about: 
Me

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741