My Own Regime

Hate me, do it again,
For I am not afraid of your disdain.
My heart beats true, buried deep below
An ocean of depth, an endless flow.

Some may have faith, while others scream,
Some weep and complain, it’s all a dream.
I am the high priest of pain, the extreme,
My truth, I trust, it’s my own regime.

Forgive me, I say, if you’re the organ of love,
Desecrate the arts, push and shove.
I am not a token, I am unique,
With brush strokes and colors, I paint the mystique.

I was once a pupil in a galaxy far away,
But now I stand tall, not led astray.
Centered upon humanity, my choices may seem unclear,
But I trust in myself, I have no fear.

I don’t care, I don’t worry, I don’t break a sweat,
For when love is perfect, there’s no need to fret.
Unless I paint it, it’s not set,
My canvas of life, my freedom, my outlet.

So hate me, do it again, shame me if you must,
I won’t bend, I won’t pretend, my spirit is robust.
My truth, my light, my guiding star,
I’ll shine forevermore, no matter how far.