They all revise my
History as if they were
Always on my side,
But I remember
What I really am to them:
A space monkey, the
One they pinned their dreams
On, kept in a cage, fed drugs,
Forgot on weekends.
Strapped in a tube and
Shot into space. They don’t know
How cold it is here.
Their show of support
Rings hollow as I labor
To save a world
Not my own, drifting
Further from who I am and
My still beating heart.
Such a relief when
I take my mask off and
Show my real face to
Myself in the car
Mirror after I leave you
At home every day.
It only hurts when I
Breathe, or hope, or believe
In something again.
You have to give up.
Hope is what is killing you.
It will never change.
It will always hurt
Like this. Nothing will improve it.
Release it and breathe.
My skeleton will
Melt. I will make my home in
The nautilus shell.
I identify
With former child stars, washed
Up. Anonymous,
Unaddicted, still
Am I a tarnished relic
Of former promise.
My face doesn’t work.
When my family sees me,
They worry, “what has
Happened?” Nothing. This
Is just who I am now. This
Shell is all I am.
Each day I chisel
The rough surface of this rock,
Trying to find the
Sculpture. I chip off
The words I don’t want to say,
“I don’t feel close to
You right now,” “I take
Pills to make life bearable,”
“If I could run, I
Would.” Another chip.
“I know you sense the dread in
Me, but haven’t the
Words to express it.”
“My best days are behind me.
They flew past while I
Was waiting for some
Validation that didn’t
Come. There is less of
Me each day.” I would
Rather die with these words not
Said, than hurt any
Of you. Alas am
I fated to wound you to
The core. Chip, chip, chip.
You are so joyful
And I mean nothing to you.
I wither and die.
