Coming Back to the Centre

I am not the centre of the universe.

Expanding from a gravitational singularity, I

now come to fulfill a sense of pronounced cosmic inflation. Realized in all matters of energy and momentum, I am a hidden gem drowning in a perpendicular plane of unabashed success.

Floating aimlessly in the abyss of this cosmos, I am encircled by seemingly estranged voices. 

Judgement phases me.

Humility pacifies me.

Defensively, I retract... 

Pondering why it is that there exists a need to belittle my accomplishments. 

Sitting in the passenger seat of my life, I confront hardened criticism with a sense of controlled operation. 

Questions circumventing societal expectations. 

Conflating small-mindedness with culturally-specific jealousy. 

Holding the basis of my internal socialization in little regard, the boastful impose their opinions. 

Behind a self-preserved barricade of impenetrable glass, I stiffen out uneducated ignorance. 

I am human. Coincidentally woman.

On equal footing, I take my rightful place.

Aggressively surging forward, I veer into the direction deemed prohibited territory.

Options considered, I choose to challenge a pretentious opponent.

Now transparent to one another, you aim to negate my resume.

 

Crushingly, I nearly falter before the voices inside my tangled head.

Willfully encountering the anticipated conditions, I enable your universe to collide with my own. 

I counsel myself.

Arguing with the right angel, the devil on the left.

Orbiting in silence, I reassure myself. 

Like a sudden shudder of light, I snap. 

The logical, the reasoned authority of my mind rations my next move.

Voices bantering in lunatic fashion...

I am Sanctioned. I stand equally entitled.

Even in your underestimation, I cannot be sold.

I find it hard to believe the pretense of your compassion.

Your words...basked in drivel.

Blistering my ego. Discrediting my worth.

An attempt to catechize me...failed. 

I cry out...

I will not, nor will I ever, condition my success to soothe your inadequacies.

Efforts to mollify me...to stamp me out, are now part of our dialectical past tense.