Born.
Six years passed.
Played a game.
The game was fun;
Lasted for awhile.
A long while.
Played a game.
Got praised for it.
Got called smart.
Game got harder.
Harder to be smart.
Struggled.
Squirmed.
Game is no longer fun.
And I, I am
Not smart,
Not anymore.
Smart in new ways.
Must invent ways to feel smart.
Doesn't work as well as when other people say it.
Doesn't feel the same.
Arbitrary numbers decide value,
Intelligence.
Competitive at its core:
System creates a winner and
Loser baby so why don't you...
The game keeps going.
Seven hours a day.
Five days a week.
One-hundred and eighty days a year.
Just terrible at the game.
Don't want to play a game when it's impossible to win.
The deck is stacked.
Not smart.
Dumb.
I told the universe that I exist;
The universe replied it didn't care.
Perhaps this is Darwin's theory at work.
Perhaps destiny decided my place was low.
It is not my fault, maybe.
It is all my fault, probably.
I, though all evidence weighs
Against me, will hold on to
The small sliver of hope that
The system is sick; and
I'm healthy.
Smart.
