Pick a Side (Zuko)
Zuko (Pt.3)
Now I’m the one who burns his life away. As the days pass, I seep deeper into darkness. Fury devours the soul while the mind embraces another falsehood. With the sovereignty I ripped from Fate in my possession, why does happiness seem so unattainable? How long must I pursue my search for actuality in this hallucination?
The stress becomes tangible while I find no sanctuary in the den of lies. My stomach is bursting with hesitation. Acid reflux laced with veracity scrapes my esophagus. The inner linings of intestines crack with truth. Vomiting deceit intensifies the anguish, but this is the first time I’ve felt alive since I’ve been home.
No Tolerance
These twin blades sever the senses that bond me to this manipulation. Cold steel deafens the commands of a tyrant. The aroma of resentment lingers around the man who lost touch with compassion. Tasting freedom through banishment, I see the fallacies of following in Satan’s footsteps.
In the land where some mold lighting itself, a piece of sharpened metal humbles the gifted. Domination through fear has no power against the courageous. Scriptures of sacrifices are not meant for the eyes of children. Out of all of the lessons I’ve learned throughout, only one has left me burned beyond recognition.
Deficient DNA
The conundrum of my character derives from an agonizing adolescence. A victim turned tormenter, searching for your approval, fostered self-doubt. Tossing my principles out the window for your satisfaction never sufficed. Instances of infuriation spark neurons when reminiscing about my childhood.
The disdain wasx overwhelming when making eye contact, raising the question of why I was even born. Living in a world where each breath is a gift, rising to standards is impossible when the bar resides in Hell.
Only the Heavens know what would become of me without the prowess of bending, but it mattered not. For dead or alive, I was forever Father’s embarrassment.
Fear was the Headmaster, and its lectures on grief were eye-catching. A wolf in sheep’s clothing posing as a role model and leader of a nation. A false prophet directing others towards the valley of despair, with his son at the bottom. Only seeing the light after a summer filled with teachings he should’ve learned from his dad.
Who am I?
The places my mind would go, the misery my body endured, all point to that horrendous day. My emotions were imprisoned in the realm of expectations, while sanity is held in solitary confinement. I wore the jumpsuit of despair proudly as I chased delusion. Years spent under the assumption that he held the key to my release, only to discover it resting in my palm.
I look back in disgust at the measures I took to see you smile. A fool’s fantasy promoted this carnage. Moral necrosis plagues our country. Annihilation of amnesty is what you preach, and our nation embraces the concept with open arms. While you sit on a throne, cosplaying as a deity, you’ve lost a son in the process.
Atonement
Someone who prioritized me over their own prosperity already blessed me with their presence. A man who instilled confidence after my public shaming and sat beside me during lonely recovery.
Iroh crossed the globe with the disgraced, burned, and banished to make sure he didn’t lose another son. And my repayment for the man who paved the road to my spiritual balance was to assist in his capture.
My idol sits behind bars, shunning me as he did his place in the history books. A nation at my beckoning call, yet he is unbounded while I remain caged. Accountability demands scarred as apologies are meaningless without action. Father could never see the bravery of being vulnerable, but through my scarred lens, all is clear.
Cauterizing the Cancer
Bathing with the devious leads to demonic afflictions. Infections that poison families, incinerate willpower. Abusive tendencies and immorality are some of the many symptoms that ravage this individual. Advantageous at a moment’s notice, his disease-ridden malignance coincides with his thunderous reputation.
The blight of hate has overtaken my spirit before. The desire for royalty decomposed my need for guidance. Cutting off the tumor to my ethos sends our relationship to the worst hospice. The surgeon’s table is the king’s bunker, and my reslove redirects the scapel.
Synchronized Conflict
Mother’s benevolence sinks its teeth into the deception that lifts from your fingertips. Her blood pumps alongside yours, seizing your negative influence. The blanket of my father’s acceptance was riddled with needles, but admiration from Iroh and my Mother forged a barrier.
The purging of detrimental forces has been a long time coming. A flower cannot exist in a vacuum, nor will a child learn through suffering. Regardless of how much the Fire Lord’s antipathy silences others, my duality will continue to sing in harmony.
This framing of Zuko's internal war as one between two father figures is genuinely brilliant. I've been thinking alot about how the show makes Iroh's patient love the antidote to Ozai's weaponized expectations, and its almost therapeutic watching Zuko recognize that trauma doesn't have to define his future. The way his 'duality' becomes a strength rather than weakness is kinda what makes his arc land so hard for me as someone who also had to unlearn bad parental programming.