Shadows on the Wall

I think in my room about it, and realize I have nothing much to say. I haven't blogged in a while and I wonder why that bothers me. I'm not getting paid for the-slacktivist. I'm not getting wide respect for the truth that I speak here. I know I speak truth. I know what I write is valid and that my shit is sincere. I know that I'm not reaching the largest crowd in the world. A little buzz but nothing much. That's not what I'm doing this for. I'm not getting anything out of this, other than the satisfaction of hitting the publish button after completing a post, I know that. I could stop posting shit up on the-slacktivist as quickly as I started posting shit up on the-slacktivist. But that option is still being weighed out in my head. As long as it's still here however, I do have one thing to address.
Seems like everybody wants to be a prophet nowadays, huh?
But nobody seems to have what it takes... Yall are crowding the air space... my air space, with nonsensical babble. You are fooling the already foolish, the blind leading the blind, with your fake deep bullshit that you've pulled from god-knows-where.
Thesaurus using, let-me-put-this-in-better-words ass people, creating a stereotype that someone like myself might fall under or be categorized with by someone who doesn't know better.
Fake prolific
What is it that you're trying to preach? To whom? How call yourself a poet if you're close minded?
I swear I see right through people, as though they were glass figurines. These certain kind of writers, I see through as though they were cheap plastic, sandwich bags.
Please recognize the truth from the same shadows on the wall you've been looking at your whole life.
I am the prisoner that escaped the cave...