poem: confessions of a teenage elitist

i like being misunderstood. but

i am not that complicated: i think am better

than you

because i think about grand things in the shower

and you only stare and smile,

your eyes drained out, your mind running clear and

fast and going nowhere.

i have various complexes: childhood trauma, childhood

poverty, childhood isolation. i am desperate

to self-justify and have sex

in big cities; you want a small life in a small place,

nothing ruined, no Unknown, no romanticism.

you will probably be happier than me:

i will try to change the universe and end

up alone.

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