The Rant of a Monster’s Protégé

This guy walks into a bar

That guy is me

That guy doesn’t know what to say to this girl

So someone suggests with sincerity—


Of all the hollow, uninspired, lame excrements of human thought

This advice is the worst

And might as well read


because tell me, wise man,

Who is the “myself” I’m to be to you?

Myself is accustomed to customs

And I can never really be free to be me


Otherwise I’d

Scratch my ass, lick my plate, kiss the dog, sing off key

Run through halls, slap the queen (it’s just a game) but I’d slap your back just the same;

I’d say you’re fat (it’s likely true); thumb my nose at the men in blue.

Is this the me you want me to be?

Or is how I am determined by you?

I don’t know the many MEs of ME so how can you tell ME what to be?

Be myself

Is that really it?

Don’t you know you’re full of—


Would the me you know say that?

You say no

Who’s this dude who speaks so crude

Maybe I am myself right now but you don’t know because

The you that’s me you thought you knew was just an imposter through and through. Maybe you want me to be a yester me

Simply because it favors you


When there’s so much MohammeDalaiLamaKrishnApostlePeterPandaExpressChineseFortuneCookieMonster wisdom

How can anyone know how to be?

Maybe it isn’t at all about “be this or be that.”

There is only


Which is for cookie

That’s good enough for me.

3 thoughts on “The Rant of a Monster’s Protégé

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