I am the outcast of my family.
I am the second child, the one not regarded.
I am always doubted, never trusted.
I am the one who is looked down upon for being different.
Between my brother and I, I am the one that thinks things through.
I am known to get what I want, because I do what it takes.
My brother is well known by nearly all
And praised by many.
People know me to tell me the grandeur of my brother,
As if I do not already know.
Little do they know that I have more to offer.
I hide my feelings for fear of getting hurt.
I have built a wall to protect myself from pain.
I will not admit when I am hurt, for jesting is all they will do.
For this I am deemed uncaring, because uncaring is what I am
If I do not wish to show how I feel.
I am the one that people question,
I am the one whose reputation is dark.
I am a mystery that people fear to search for the light of.
For they think I am truly wicked.
But am I wicked? Not in my heart.
The fašade I have built is what people see.
And so it has become my defense.
My words can be daggers dipped in poison.
Their aim is true when I wish them to be.
I know how to protect myself.
But for it I am alone, watching, seeing, waiting.
My time will come – I will be patient.
I am careful. I am watchful.
I am mischief incarnate.
I am Loki.