Work Text:
They said that I am useless, gross and vile,
my name is Freak, I ought to feel beholden
for that they took me in after my parents died
in 1981 (that they were alcoholics).
They said I have substantial obligations
for they kept me alive since I'd been left
on their porch that evening in November
like some unwanted trash. It was a theft –
what had been done to me: I was deprived of care,
nobody knew that I was left to be abused,
and starved, and beaten harshly merely
for my existence. Often, I've been used
as their slave, free labor, whipping boy,
while my dumb cousin was a little prince,
that did no wrong, had clothes, food and toys,
played "Harry-hunting" with his cronies on a whim.
There were here no authorities to check, that
I live in Hell of a familial make:
my muggle neighborhood thought I was just a slacker;
and, likely, there were people on the take
amongst the Ministry of Magic "good" staff members,
since they've for years been hymning my defeat
of Voldemort, and yet forgotten to remember
that I'm an orphan, that I had my needs
for safety, for care. My upbringing
should've been much different, but woe is me, I am
a victim of their hubris, their thinking
that I'm their little martyr... Well, to hell
with them and their foul conspirations,
with their gaslighting, their mental games!
And fuck them all for their expectations
that I'll be their pawn!.. I have my fame,
I'm not afraid to use it, if I ought to,
to turn the tides and use 'vox populi' to fight
against their corruption with their own tools
and watch them burn on their burning pile.