PART VI

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VI

Sixth version of the same body.

Nothing upgraded.

Nothing new.

Just outdated.

Bet you still say you related.

You ever get tired of being told you’re intense?

Like you’re supposed to apologize for repeating absence.

I don’t.

I lean into it.

Because the alternative was shrinking,
I tried that already.
But, What the fuck was i thinking?

Didn’t work.

Still here.
Still difficult.
Still imaging your face hitting asphalt —
shattering all over the place.

Should I give up?
the shit technically doesn’t even matter.
Ain't fucking flattered.

Let's raise the mental ladder.

You parked crooked?

I notice.

You interrupted?

Mental note it.

You smile too long when you lie?

I file that right under "fucker just go die".

Petty?

Yeah.

I’ve built internal wars over less.

And the worst part?

I still can't digest.

Not the chaos.

Not the clarity.

There’s nothing satisfying me.

I don’t bond.
I test.

You pass?

Cool, still.

You fucking fail?

Said you did your best?

What the hell,

It’s not that deep.

It’s maintenance, and bitch —
talk is cheap

I don’t have the bandwidth for dealing with fake ass creeps.

You want vulnerability?
Bring something real enough to deserve it.

Otherwise I’ll stare through you like you earned it.

Still numb?

No.

Passed numb.

I’m sharp.

I feel irritation immediately.
I feel disrespect instantly.
I feel when someone’s tone shifts half a degree.
And it's pointed at me.

You think that’s paranoia.
No, It’s pattern memory.

You don’t grow up around constant correction
without developing radar.
Better Ditch that hand flying at me.
And trying to play hard.

And yeah,
I escalate minor shit.

But I'll still hit your girls clit

Yeah I got skills —
What you gonna do about it?

You misquote me?

I’m ready to burn the fucker down.

You question my tone?

Bitch act grown.

You act like you know me?

I rewrite the entire dynamic, bitch blow me.

Overreaction?

Maybe.

Or maybe I just won’t tolerate your small interaction.

You know what’s funny?

Not corrosion.

People say I’ve changed.

I haven’t.

I stopped pretending.

I stopped answering.

I stopped projecting the first reaction so you could stay entertained.

Now when something irritates me,
you see it.

And suddenly I’m “vol-uh-tile.”

Good.

Volatile is the only thing worth projecting.

Boom,

I don’t do diplomacy well.
I don’t soften truth.
I don’t care if your feelings break like a smashed in tooth.

I’m not your therapist.
I’m not your mediator.
I’m your safe space infiltrator.

I’m a walking collection of grudges. (That's the Judicator)

You wrong me?
I don’t forget.
I don’t forgive.
I don’t erase the pattern because you said sorry once.
I don't got a single fuck to give.

You think I’m exhausting.

You should try being me.

Constantly scanning.
Constantly assessing.
Constantly deciding whether you’re worth addressing.

That’s tiring.

But it beats being naive.

Self-degrading?

Absolutely.

I know I’m abrasive.
I know I turn minor inconveniences into vendettas.
I know I assume the worst in people.
I know I enjoy confrontation more than I should.
Punch you in the face –
I wish I could.

Still bleeding?

Internally.

Grinding teeth at 2 a.m.
Replaying conversations.
Thinking of better responses three hours too late.
Let's go back, make revisions.

Still breathing?

Unfortunately.

Still unimpressed?

Fucking Consistently.

I don’t hate the world.

I just don’t romanticize it.

I don’t love people.

I evaluate them.

I don’t chase connection.

I tolerate until something proves it's worth my attention.

You call that cold.

I call that bold.

Six isn’t growth.

It’s accumulation.

Years of micro-corrections.
Years of subtle dismissal.
Years of being told to “calm down” when I was feeling abysmal.

Now I don’t calm down,

I double down.

Now I speak first.
Cut first.
Leave first.

If I’m the villain?
Fine.

Villains don’t beg for acceptance.

They just exist.

Bringing dominance.

Still here.
Still sharp.
Still bleeding.
Still......

Death lord...