That whatever you do isn't what should be done?
That hater eyes pierce your being from every direction?
Isn't it enough that I'm trying to do something? Anything?
So why the hate?
Why the constant criticism, the laughs, the negative energy?
Is it because I look so good trying and failing repeatedly?
Or is it because I won't give up?
Maybe it's because I puff the magic dragon.
Does my coping mechanism strike a moral nerve?
Or maybe it's because it's fun to watch me struggle, to see me have to throw on a friendly face and a ray of hope when you know that I know that we both know I'm burning inside.
But not from you or your opinions; instead from life and its obstacles.
Nothing's easy, the lesson goes.
But understanding of such comes to each at his own pace.
So now that I'm grinding, pushing myself to realize myself, why all the hate?
Don't you want me to get my shit together?
To be less of a burden on everything you hold so dear?
Are you pissed at your own predicament?
Has the human condition overcome your sense of yourself?
Am I the scapegoat for your own remorse?
Does it burn to see me shoot above your head?
And disregard your looks, your gestures, your words of disparagement?
Does the stick inch just a little further up each time that smile invades my face?
You know, the shit eating grin that only faith in oneself can force to the surface.
That grin that hints at an understanding of my granular nature.
I'm 1 in 7 billion.
So are you.
So why the hell should your thoughts mean more than mine?
Don't you have better things to do?
Don't hate my swag, my confidence, my poise.
In fact, disregard them altogether.
And perhaps just do you.