The becoming of a rogue

 I had to make my own way.
Never fitting in.
I argued with the way they did things.
I was told to learn their ways.

I watched as I was put last in every scenario.
I was just given scraps at every feast.
So I took my own personal license.
And became the rogue you see.

I had to fight my way out alone.
Break their rules and leave their tables.
There was no place for me there.
I made my way through the wrecks and junkyards.

Through the odd jobs and invisible neighborhoods.
My words were all I had.
Beggers can't be choosers, father said.
But I became both.

There's no such thing as a free lunch, my mother said.
But I ate without paying on countless days.