Who I Am Hates Who I've Been [Spoken Word Original FULL TEXT)

See this?

This is what I used to be

What I used to think was cool

‘Cause as you see

It was never “in” to be yourself

So you bought a brand name

To replace your own

Well,

That old me died

He died when I realized

It wasn’t the real me

So for a moment, I supported Nike

I just did what I had to do

I took my knife and with it’s anger and hate

I slit his throat

And with his death

I was born

My parents

They don’t understand

Like the ignorance of racism

They criticize

Not realizing this is who I am

Regardless of who they wish I was

I leave them

As confused as a writer

With a piece of carpet

So what, you think

That I am just like everyone else you see?

You’re wrong

You are but a blind man in the desert

Wandering aimlessly

Your knowledge, as incomplete as his

You are no Atlajala

You can’t see inside the depths of my mind

Articulate advisors

Advertise the age to come

But what I see is chaos

Chaos consuming and controlling society

You know nothing about me

You’re just a number

Ticking down your own days

Like Irani’s “Notes from the Womb”

All you know is yourself

You wonder what the outside would look like

But you’re just a prisoner in Plato’s cave

I am who I am

My convictions will stand with me

I am no Oedipus

You can’t destroy me

My eyes show me who I’ve always truly been

“GTA will escape worst of severe rain warning”

It’s a shame

If you knew the body count

Massacres take place every day

You think you know about

Everything that happens simply because

You read the news?

‘Cause you’re just the neighborhood whore

You take everything you get, no questions asked

You don’t know lose like mine

To lose your sister

To be helpless and to have no memory of her

Is like losing a piece of yourself

I have never felt whole

You think you know me?

You know only strangers

You really want to get into my head?

Write, as Edward Allie once said

“I write to find out what I’m thinking about”

And John Hawkes, listen to his words

When he told us writing is an act of revenge

This is my vengeance

I’ll always be the outcast

I have the disease no one understands

Which is why, I’ll never be good enough

I’ll keep writing about love

To prove to myself I deserve such a reality

I’ll keep writing about her

To prove to myself I deserve her in my life

I’ll keep trying to remain myself

To prove that I really have changed

‘Cause who I am hates who I’ve been

And Who I’ve been was only as real as the plastic

I abused when I bought my way though life

This is the real me.