I am worth more than you have to offer me.
I am a better and stronger person than you'll ever be.
I am messy and inconvenient, gloriously and hilariously broken, and I will never be whole. I will always be damaged and leaking, not blood but words:
Of the pain of rejection,
of the loss of a life that I never had,
and of the horrible knowledge that I am as alien to your world as a Lovecraftian Elder God.
But just like the Old Ones of Lovecraft's mythology, the world that I'm a part of now -- the one I escaped to -- is more real, more solid, and more lasting than yours. And one day your world will collapse like a soap bubble, and reality in all of its beautiful madness will flood back inside.
You're scared of me because you know this. Because in my eyes, in my face, in my very existence that you tried to crush, you see the end of your world.
You should be afraid. Because when your fragile world pops, I will be there:
With my watery tentacles outstretched,
my flowing wings held high,
and my joyous laughter resounding through your flooded Heaven.
It will be beautiful.
And then, if you are still there, I will blow you a raspberry.