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Middle Finger

by Marcus Jones

say what you will about me.
accuse me of being dense,
apathetic,
an asshole, even.
call me everything except for
a child of god.
i don't care.
say your worst,
it doesn't phase me
one bit.
i am above your bullshit.
your arrogance in the face
of ignorance
amuses me greatly.
you think for one second you
know what i'm all about?
you have no fucking idea
what drives me to be me.

i don't fit your
preconceived notions,
and that scares you.
therefore rather than
get to know the real me,
you deem it
appropriate,
even necessary
to try to tear
me down
inch by inch,
brick by brick,
until there is nothing left
that resembles what was once there.
then once the demolition is
complete,
you plan to build me
up,
"better"
"grander"
in the hopes that i will
somehow
be thankful and worship
at the feet of the god of
the greater good.

well, sorry to break the news
to you so succinctly,
but no,
i just can't stand for that.
i am no one's pet project,
a fixer-upper that can
be molded and crafted into
whatever you wish.
many have tried to make
me something that i'm not
and failed immensely.
my family tried once
and got three years
of silence
for their efforts.
do you think you're better
than they are?
at least i LOVE them.
meanwhile, you're just
a fucking stranger.

in short,
your opinion means absolutely dick.

they say that no one man
is an island.
i disagree.
i have declared
myself a
sovereign state,
free of your intolerance,
free of your judgement,
but most of all,
free of you.
i rule myself as i see fit.
a nation of one,
king of all that i survey.
and let it be known
that any threats to my
rule will be met with swift
and total retribution.

if you do not heed my warning,
listen to reason, and stop
your senseless campaign to
make me into something i'm not,
then you
my friend will
be laid low.
and as they carry your wounded
body away from
the front lines
on your shield,
the last thing you will remember
will be me
with my hand
raised in triumph,
my head held high,
and a voice resonating
in your ears
until your dying day:

"this is my country."
"this is my flag."
"watch me wave my FUCKING FLAG!"

08/10/2007

Author's Note: i don't like being told what to do, especially by someone who is going to look down upon me negatively until i give in to their wishes. girlfriend, co-worker, family, all catch hell if they do that, simple as that. my "flag" is my middle finger and if i have to raise it, war is approaching.... :)

Posted on 08/10/2007
Copyright © 2025 Marcus Jones

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Genevieve Sturrock on 08/11/07 at 01:42 AM

i agree that condescension is abhorrent...but occasionally, someone will point out a flaw in our thinking or behavior that really should be addressed. it would be good to not have our heads stuck so far up our own bowels as to not hear a wise word when spoken, even when we disagree with it. all in all, i must say, though this is aggressively spoken, but refreshingly honest and may your flag wave proudly in face of hypocrits and fools.

Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 08/11/07 at 03:10 AM

What can I say? Well said. Brutally so. Right down to the last word.

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