“White and male is old and stale”
Who are you, rhyme-thief, to tell me why I am “old and stale?” Perhaps my anachrony has nothing to do with my skin's color, but with its many scars, folds and sun-stains. Perhaps my unfreshness has more to do with the days in which I sat in a stale and silent room untouched than with whom I touched and why.
But it hardly matters. It was barely tick-tick ago that I was full of borrowed fire and priestly certainty. It will be tick-tick from now that your savage truths will grow stiff and cold. Fire-forged slogans, words that we died for become cliche's that cause eyes to roll. This is the way of things.
So take it all without reserve. Take the beautiful and horrible old world, and cut it to your length and liking. It has all been done before, it will be done again. Had I my wish, I would have left it to you in better condition, but it was not mine to shape.
I am not so vain as to think I am necessary to anything, or that I ever was. Best fortune to you, and an early, easy death. It is not good to outlive one's role, to burden the stage with nothing more to say.
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haters gotta hate...
I have lived for years past my nubile, child-bearing years, an invisible "burden" to a world that is old and stale, and as cruel and ignorant as a medieval peasant, costumed in a modern laziness of useless busyness and judgement as cruel as the crosses of ancient Rome.