I refused to be looked down upon. As I see the scurrying and the floundering, the flashing and the blasting of heat and sound, I refuse to succumb to the mundanity that is required of me. I am not the average worker. Despite my ordinary intelligence, my inanely unhandsome looks, I refuse to succumb. Swimming, swimming upstream against the lifeworks of destiny, claiming a ledge for myself, I struggle, I weep against fate, for my life has been a work of struggle ever since I took my first breath of this tortured existence that few know about.
I will not reside in this confounded and mind-boggling mesolect that pervades the corners of the institution. I am tired, ridiculously tired yet struggle still, with my might, my energy. I will fulfill the resolution and the quaser, until I expire, which will be welcoming in the face of this dreary life.
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