To win, I Must Lose

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Anger is your language,

kindness is foreign to you,

and is a useless tongue in your eyes.

You go around,

mocking ever so


pushing every button,

pulling up every unwanted,


Your specialties sicken me.

If you are not happy,

everyone is miserable.

But no more! I cry.

No more of your bullshit,

and misused anger.

So I fight back,

with words of my own.

They sting you,

they make you cringe

because you I speak the


and there is so little you can do.

So very little.

But fury is not my natural tongue,

so my ability to

cause distress

and mental anguish,

is so much weaker than yours.

So it is only reasonable that you

throw my words back into my face.

I know well,

that I fight in a game,

that I have already lost.

Yet I refuse to give up,

I will study your fury,

I will become fluent in your hatred,

and make your warped language my own.

You laugh at this,

knowing it true,

and say:

"But my dear,

what will become of the old you?"

I grow silent,

and walk away,

knowing in order to win,

I will have to lose myself,

one day.

Author's note:

I don't want to lose, either against them, or myself.

Written about 4 months ago.

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