Disclaimer: I don't own Fruits Basket or anything associated with it—all the credit goes to Natsuki Takaya.
Hello, World. I wrote this poem for you. Since you know me so well.
Smile, be kind.
Because you're happy.
There is no pain here.
No cancer, no vomiting, no convulsions
No trembling, sick-and-weak on cold bare floor feeling
No twisting and burning and wishing to cry
No screams in the middle of the night
No imaginary friend to hold you
Who always turns on you and screams into your ear until you're
Dizzy dizzy dizzy
You hurt them you hurt them you terrible person
Hitting back to punish, kicking like I kicked them, slapping and spilling shared blood on the floor, the same blood, the same genes, the same aches and fears and god-awful curse that came in the night and devoured with teeth like a devil cat, like a devil
You don't know what pain is.
You don't know what love is—biting your tongue to make it bleed so that you don't reach out and KILL KILL KILL the stupid, groveling fuckers that did this to you.
YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT PAIN IS.
I SHOULD JUST BE HAPPY.
I SHOULD JUST BE NICE.
Why me? Why me? Why?!!!!!
Don't you smile at me.
Don't you beg forgiveness.
Don't you call me a terrible person or
Say that you love me or
Say that you understand
Cry and beg me not to hurt you...
Please forgive me.
I was born for pain.
Oops. Sorry that I hurt you.
Oops. Sorry that you hate.
Sorry that you'd do the same exact thing if you were ever given the chance you coward you coward you don't want pain.
You would sacrifice me.
So don't tell me to calm down.
Don't tell me to be nice.
Don't tell me to take my medicine
don't tell me to stay in bed
not go outside ever
or eat candy ever
or touch that plant
take a walk in the rain
you'll catch pneumonia
ride a bike
talk about it
oh, but you can bleed and vomit and suffer that's okay.
Of course I want to love you.
Of course I don't want to hit you.
Of course you don't deserve even a fraction of the pain that you pushed off onto a newborn infant, making every fucking choice for him so that he could never make one of his own not ever in his whole life, not allowed to be selfish, not allowed to be wrong,
and god is love.
I love you, it's fine.
Everything is good.
Can't you see that I'm smiling?
You'd smile too.
I know you would. Because you're a good person.
You'd do a better job than me.
You'd smile all the time, with pain lancing through you, and your body eating itself, and a sunny day feeling like a blizzard and a gentle touch feeling like a knife wound and a knife wound feeling like a deep, deep kiss.
Oh, yeah. You'd smile. You'd be so happy.
So happy like this!
So happy like this!
Like wishing it would hurry up and happen so that you didn't have to decide whether you love or hate them for giving you the gift of power which was years-long, agonizing death and since everybody wants that for Christmas.
Oh SO much.
And I love you
and it's okay
and I want to die for you
I want you to take it all
I want to give away every chance
I want you to fucking kill me so that I can thank you for it.
Yeah, thank you.
Thank you for giving me this.
Thank you for taking
the very last breath from my sick, sick body.
I am very grateful.
I am very amused.
I am overwhelmed by the love you've shown me.
And I want to be nice to everyone because
From Akito, with love.
A/N: For those of you who couldn't tell, this is not an anti-Akito poem. It is a poem intended to take off the blinders of hatred and reveal the truth. Tricked ya! I feel no shame...