The confusion of my history

The confusion of my history has defiled the purity of my identity. Like the stigma of a terrible scar, it has defiled the purity of my identity. Look at what they have done to my name! Like a Label they tag me, like a label they define me, like a label they call me rot. They call me a rot that has no tomorrow, they call me violent, they call me the 15year refugee on the boat who threw himself into the ocean after being shot at by the sea pirates, they call me an outcast, that I will never make it out of the blues. But it's all null because I shall rise to reclaim the inheritance of my name.
I strive still because I'm the chosen one, I'm the metaphorist on the surface of hope, the redemption of my name is the birth and death of my existence. Call me by my true name
, at least the one I choose to bear, and at the same time I will rejoice and weep over these days. Let it be my profound joy and pain, call me just this once. I am the record breaker, I am a fighting champion I am unstoppable, I am the history worthy of remembrance, I am Araga the great. I am the imprint of a noble history. So please call me by my name, at least just this once