The room is thick like poured molasses
Broken only by lights and camera flashes
The reason for my birth is suddenly clear
The newest idol has arrived, a crowd draws near
When I enter a room, everyone stops to stare
Like a phoenix rising from the ashes
I was born to transfix the masses

When I sit alone,
Someone will ask, “Can I use this chair?”
Then carry it to another table
To laugh with friends over there—
Leaving me, still and silent,
Closed off like a clam.

Here I am in the jungle,
Eating blueberries and plant seeds,
But then the ground starts to rumble—
The sound of a hundred soldiers charging for me.

They come at me from all sides,
A hundred foreign objects storming my land.
A primal fear stirs inside,
But I cannot run; I must make my stand.

I roar like a strike of purple thunder—
The men don’t stop, unbothered by anything.
Did I make a mistake, a blunder?
I feel like a misunderstood king.

The men have stricken me down,
They cheer, reveling in the battle being won
I know in the eyes of my troop, I’ve lost my crown,
But it speaks volumes— a hundred needed to defeat one.

Ingredients:

½ stick of thin skin (softened)
1 cup of birthdays that never went right
1½ cups of “I’m fine”
2 cups of a cracked voice
1¾ cups of people forgetting your name
½ cup of being avoided
1 teaspoon of false hope
Instructions:

1. Preheat the oven to 350°F (175°C). This is the perfect temperature to overwhelm your ingredients—and then blame them when they don’t turn out right.
2. In a large bowl, mix the softened thin skin with the birthdays that never went right. This will release the tears.
3. Crack the 2 cups of voice until it’s silent. Add the teaspoon of false hope. This gives the mixture a bitter edge of intimidation.

4. Combine the forgetfulness and avoidance. Stir them into the tears.

5.  Pour in the 1½ cups of “I’m fine.” Mix until everything looks normal on the surface.

6. Pour into a greased pan. Bake until numb.

Serving:
This recipe serves one.
Best served cold.
Not recommended for children—
unless you don’t want them to have a good childhood.

I’m afraid the masquerade is over;
You must pack your bags and leave now.
Don’t be sad — take it as closure;
They still think they’re holier than thou.

The rich return to their old ways,
Their customs brittle, cold, and strange.
They’ll tell you once again, "Eat cake," —
A stubborn mindset you cannot change.

The mask falls off along with the glamor;
Nothing remains but broken chandeliers.
The empty halls strike your face like a hammer,
And you long for the gateau and beer.

Outside, it’s a bitter winter,
And your faith threatens to disappear.
But the masquerade won’t let you reenter —
You hear a commotion drawing near.

Two people fighting, blinded by beliefs,
Living side by side in the same town too.
When will they see — it’s not a left or right breach,
But a battle of the top against the few?

Honestly -
If you want to be with me,
Say it whole heartedly.
I don’t want to waste my twenties.