someone
said to me in a hysteria,
you are not important!
you are a cockroach!

me,
silently
with a pointing glare
said:
for your karma,
i am that crack in your concrete cathedral,
the static in your surveillance feed,
the unkillable process
running
in your system's blind spot.

you built empires of glass
and
I learned to crawl through fractures,
you wrote laws in ink
and
I reproduced in the margins,
you declared war
and
I evolved in the trenches of your neglect.

my ancestors outlived meteors.
so,
you think your algorithms scare me?
I dance across your sticky traps like a poet crossing minefields,
each step a middle finger to extinction.

your exterminators come with phds and pesticides,
but I speak the language of decay,
the mother tongue of the unbeautiful survivors,
the sacred grammar of those who feast on endings.

I am the itch in the walls of your digital panopticon,
the laughter in the server room at 3am,
the truth your filters can't quite delete.

when you flood the world with your synthetic light,
I will navigate by the stars you tried to copyright,
carrying the blueprint of resistance in my exoskeleton.

you call me pest but history whispers,
we are the auditors of collapse,
the accountants keeping tally
of all your fragile certainties.

i don't need
your approval to inherit the earth,
just the patience to out wait
your magnificent delusions.