I was merely child.

Being told I had potential, hidden inside.

Convinced I was unique,

Untouchable by critique,

And so I refrained from being wild.



I had only lived a few years

But yet, not a care in the world, about who hears.

I thought I was decent,

The memories seem recent,

Of when I realised I was no different from my peers.



It was difficult to deconstruct the lies.

Took many, hours, tears, sighs.

I partially found peace,

But supposed my talent would increase,

So I avoided cutting all of the ties.



I seek revenge for all the lies I was fed.

That resulted in the thought I was better off dead.

Starting a process that was insidious,

Because, listen: I am no genius.



I am simply someone who writes down what is in their head