bowie / district 3

I think if I was any other person, it'd have been hell growing up in my household. Not many people can stomach being called weird every single day by not just everyone at school, but by your own blood. As if there weren't more inventive insults for my type of odd. Which, sure, may be unsettling or weird, but it's not my fault you're all too stupid to understand things the way I do. 

I see something, even just once sometimes, and instantly know how to make it better. Can any of you say the same? Or do you just go through life, looking around, happy with a lack of creativity and not a single ounce of ingenuity?

Must be fucking depressing. 

I feel bad for you, I really do.

I couldn't live if I wasn't stretching my brain. That's what I like to do; it's a bonus that I'm good at it. Most people, even my family, call my creations horrors or freaky, but I made it with my own two hands, so what the fuck? Let's see you do that. Dissecting the manufactured toys lying around, taking them apart, turning them into something magnificent. That's my calling, I think. I don't really care what people have to say about it. 

Sometimes I wonder if I'd make a good mutt tamer. Maybe less of a tamer, but a creator. I'd like to see what makes the ones from last year's game tick. Crack them open, run my hands through their innards, and see what they're made of. I'm sure I could do a better job than whoever's in charge. 

If I could only get out of this shit-hole. If only I could go somewhere with like-minded people, not dumbasses who can't even tie their shoes properly. Don't tell my siblings, though. We're not supposed to want more. I'm not supposed to want to be something better, someone different - someone without the last name Mars.