Why send my words into the world unencumbered by my name

Why let others see what I've created using only a computer and my brain

How does this action so contrary to my nature benefit me anyway

I could better use my time and talents in a hundred different ways

I will not give in to convention

I will deny your good intention

I will not live in your delusion

I will cause you endless confusion

I will not give in and pretend to be

I will be different than you want to see

I will not live in your perfect existence

I will struggle but don't need your assistance

I like it when there are multiple ways to interpret the challenge. Otherwise I feel like someone else could post something similar and I can't add anything new.

I write when the challenge appeals to me or I get inspired reading it. The best challenges I feel are broad, vague and mostly fun. I want an idea, a spark to follow, not a shared box to dig around in with all my fellow prosers.

I feel as if my edges have eroded over time. I've become something that spins perfectly in place always moving but never going anywhere. I try new things but eventually end up back where I started. I look around for inspiration but see only what I've known. I crave new experiences, new sights but haven't the means to persue them. I dream but even my imagination has settled into a well worn rut. Even what happens only in my head has no spark, no hook to draw me in. This creative numbness scares me. I already have so little, I can't lose my greatest reprieve, that which makes and sustains me. Without it I'm just a shell, an actor playing a part that has no substance.

"This needs to be cooked some more" I say with conviction while they give me strange looks. "It's perfectly done" They tell me this but no, I still see pink, it's not safe. "It's undercooked" I insist. "You can still eat it when it's a little pink it tastes better, that way." They claim as I stare them down. "If I stab it and it bleeds it's basically still alive. It needs to be cooked more. Heathens don't you understand the dangers of undercooked meat."

Eventually they give up and let me have my way. As I sit there chewing my overdone roast with the blackened caramelized outside I sigh. They need to stop letting me cook.

I dramatically throw open my arms. "Do you get it now" I shout as they look around in horror. "What are those" they ask tentatively pointing at the multitude of strings crisscrossing the landscape. "Oh those are my special connections. You've heard of all roads lead to Rome. This is my version, all strings reveal everything is my fault." "That... That's not possible" They stammer. "Of course it is just watch". I walk them down the path showing how my actions or lack thereof caused everything that's wrong in my vicinity. I can see them listening intently as I make my case. I think I've proven my point when they give me a strange look. "You know none of that is on you right" I shake my head at their well intentioned nonsense. Obviously they are just trying to be kind to such a screwup. I pat them sympathetically on the back as I explain once again how I'm to blame for everything wrong in the world. Eventually I'll bring them around, one day they'll understand. Neither of us are going anywhere until I do.