I love how you love to think you know me
I wrote two-thirds of my story; you only read one-eighth of it
You think you know me, a product of your disasters, a slave to the handcrafted beauty only you are too vain to understand.
I’ll go on, living life, playing by your game, your rules. You introduced me to the roulette, but I spin it now; you’re just a slave to its unbidden tendencies.
You think your mind reads what mine thinks, but you know so little of the well-studied world you behave to participate in- in your way.
So I will keep on living with one-quarter of what you know; and a half of what you have seen- but I’ll always be making history.