Here is a confession: I am an arrogant asshole.
I've known this for quite a while now, that I'm a blemished soul, dented from my hard-hitting ego and patronising air. Nose turned up, eyebrows furrowed, malevolent magma coating my compassion, I am an arrogant asshole.
Or, in the manner in which I tend to romanticise things: I am the Queen of the High Horse Parade, furred cape, gilded crown, rubied scepter and all.
I will sit on a throne not made for me -- velvet, smooth, red -- and I will float through the crowd, the sea of people, inferior, revolting, at my feet. I will judge and I will frown, throw glares all around, and then I will smirk. The poisonous curve will etch my face like evanescent ice picked caverns bound to melt, bound to pass away.
I will demand servants to welcome my grandiose with golden petals, tossed into the air like twirling ballerinas with their flared skirts rippling the air. I will sit smug and enjoy the theatrics, the faces of envy shooting through the crowd, the eyes of awe revering my presence.
I will make them scream and shout my name, make them know their place in this hierarchy. I am above, they are below, and as their chants crescendo into cries of adoration, I will finally look. I will grace them with my gaze, sweep the crowd with my being, show them the compassion I have, tainted and tarred.
And then I will topple over.
I will be pushed over like the boulder blocking a path, and I will plunge deep, plunge fast, plunge until I perish. I will break my neck, snap my spine and as I reach out to the hands of my worshiping people, they will scavenge away and snicker. My crown will fall and, as it does, the gold will fade away.
I will realize that I have been shoved over by the crowd that has all along been cloaked and I will think, "I should have gotten off when I could."
I am the Queen of the High Horse Parade, disillusioned, despised, disgusting.
It's an incredible revelation when you realise you're a flawed human being. We all know that perfection is a standard impossible to achieve, but when have we ever stopped to think about what stains us the most?
Personally, I've known this fact for quite some time. To those who have come to know this slice of internet as The Mayden, it might interest you to know that I was The Myopic Misfortune before this. My branding? "Hypocritical, condescending and arrogant (also very skeptical, socially inept and pretentious)," all of which I fully acknowledge.
There was a time where I prized my flaws, flaunted them on my Twitter bio like it's a fact I'm supposed to be proud of, written in tones of condescension like it's alright, but numerous ruminations and self-reflections have led me to the fact that, if I don't get off this damned high horse, I'll eventually be pushed over.
Perhaps this is a way to solidify my decision and the fact, but I know I will be working hard to diminish the uproarious fault in me and maybe rise back up a decent townsfolk.