You don’t know who I am.

You don’t know what I am.
Where I am.
What I’m like.
Whether I’m sane or not.
You don’t know whether I’m straight or gay; retarded, average, or above-average; whether I’m a socialite or misanthrope.
You don’t know anything about me, apart from what I have to say.

You can’t judge me based on what I look like.
Whether I’m dark or fair.
Asian or American.
Black or white.
Bucktoothed or not.
On the colour of my eyes, shape of my nose, or length of my hair.
Because all you know about me is what I tell you.

You don’t know me, I don’t know you.
You judge me only based on what I have to say.
And that makes all the difference.
This is freedom–this is power.

An attempt at a serious piece for once which went awry. I’d better get back to writing light humour (if what I normally write can even be described as that–it’s more like a VIP tour of the workings of a brain which needs serious oiling.)

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