Origin Story.

I used to lay awake in bed

flipping through my comic books

wondering where my Peter Parker was

where my Beast Boy

where my Logan Howlett

where my anyone was—

to come get me from these goddamned four walls,

with their popcorn ceilings

and invisible bars on the windows.

But instead, all I got was another list

of what I was doing wrong,

and how I should’ve fixed it long ago.

And their only solution, it seemed,

was to keep me locked in tighter.

Shut the doors harder.

Bar the windows more.

Block any real-life hero

from swinging in,

saving the day,

smashing through the glass,

and telling me I was totally normal.

When they finally threw me out—

like trash for the raccoons—

I went looking for comfort

in any arms that would hold me.

And maybe that led me

right into the places

they tried so hard to keep me from.

But still—

No Peter.

No Logan.

Only Venom.

Only Sabre.

And it fucking changed me.

Made me bitter.

Made me so goddamned cynical

I stopped believing

anything good even existed.

While Peter was out there saving Gwen,

and Logan was saving the world,

Beast Boy was diving into the darkness

to pull Raven out—

I was being beat down.

Thrown into fire.

Whipped into broken glass.

But at the end of it all—

after all the false heroes I encountered—

I learned one thing.

Just one.

Stop waiting on anyone else.

Save your damn self.