Everyone loves the comedian.
He can bring a smile to someone’s face that had been covered with a cloud of darkness for decades.
He feels the sadness emitting from another person, even from their heart, and can chase it away with a joke about an interrupting cow or a dog and sandpaper or with the punchline being the lyrics to a song that when said is played in the head of the listener and its beat revives their heart with an electric shock.
He can put in order the right words and can say them with such perfect deliverance that it can make a crowd keel over, laughing so hard they can barely breathe and applaud with the forcefulness equivalent to a stampede of wildebeests.
People like to laugh.
He can make them laugh.
But what if the comedian no longer walks with a spring in his step? What if that cloud of sadness that he chased away found its way and circled back towards him?
What if it just so happen to be that, when he walked off the stage, he pulled off a mask that no one knew was there in the first place because he hid it so well by distracting the attention from his face and onto to what happiness he could provide them with. That by mending other broken spirits, none of them would notice his, even more broken than theirs. And in the silence of my- his- own misery, he is left to rage war with himself that he can only feel on the inside of me- him- and gives no hint to it on the outside so as to remain the jester. My- his- heart and mind is a warzone fought between him and his fears. The insecurities that reach out their withered hands to paralyze me- him- from the heart down are fought only with the will to press on as normal. And while I tell that joke about the rabbi, the priest, and the atheist that walk into the bar I’m on the other side of it drinking myself into a protective pit trying to forget the other joke I told about the chicken who crossed the road as if trying to paint me- it- with some amount of courage to cross the road when deep down inside I know the truth that I am much less than a coward unable to cross a dead road for fear of getting run over by myself. My insecurities and fears that I warded off for so long have finally grabbed hold of my ankles, ripping the supports from underneath me so that I fall and crash to the ground, blood spilling everywhere, all the while keeping a calm composure and a smile taped to my face so no one will know it kills.
Yet still I press on.
Why?
Because everyone loves the comedian.
I can bring a smile to someone’s face that had been covered with a cloud of sadness, emitting from their heart, coming in to save the day and chase away that darkness and revive their heart with an electric shock that has the forcefulness equivalent to a stampede of wildebeests that will leave them breathless and with a smile on their face.
And so they press on.
And so I press on.

I am the child that spins and dances,
I leap and swing my arms.
I stare at the world in pure amazement
And am always in wonder of its beauty.
I am filled with innocence,
As my smile touches your heart,
As my hand holds yours,
Because I Am.

I am the lover that calls after you.
I wring my hands when they aren’t embracing you,
Because of my desire to be close to you
And for you to understand my love.
I am passionate for you
And I cry out when you can’t see
That nothing you do can change that
Because I Am.

I am the warrior that fights for you.
I fight for love and for justice.
I will war anything that comes against
Or in between me and my beloved.
I rush head-on into the battle,
Willing to give my life for yours.
I gave my life for yours
Because I Am.

I’m drowning beneath a wave
A wave no one can see and only I can feel.
I feel me sinking into its depths
Being crushed under its pressure.
There’s a noose around my neck
A noose no one can see and only I can feel.
I feel the support being ripped from underneath me
And a rope that chokes the life from me.
There’s a knife on my wrist
A knife no one can see and only I can feel
I feel its blade carving into my arm
As my lifeless blood spills into the sink.
This air is too thick, there’s a hole in my lungs
This silence is the most deafening thing you’ll hear
Am I making it obvious enough that I need help?
Or are you just that blind?
There’s a gun in my mouth
And it’s very much real
I don’t want to do this
But I can’t stop myself.
I’m screaming inside for You to save me
Words that can’t make it to my mouth.
Would You rush in and save me from myself
From something that is not myself.
Can you feel my spirit tug at Your heart
Begging You to read my thoughts
To know the darkest part of me
That no one can see and only I can feel
So You can slowly help me heal.

We tell them we’re fine
But it’s not like they’d listen anyway, right?
Save your words
They won’t be heard
And the silence is what you really prefer

We tell them we’re fine
They won’t know the difference
Our emotionless face won’t show it
Our broken hearts won’t bestow it
Why try to explain
When the only feeling we know is pain

We tell them we’re fine
Because we just want to be left alone
We don’t want them to listen
We can solve it ourselves
Take another hit, make another slit
It’ll be alright

We tell them we’re f*cked up
Because we don’t want to be alone
We want them to listen
We can’t solve it ourselves
Put the drugs away, put the razor down
It’ll be alright...

I’ve tattooed a line across
the veins of my wrist
and marked a down stroke
for every time
“you can’t wear red lipstick”
made me believe
I never wanted to in the first place.

for every time instead
I’ve stained my lips with cherries
learning how to tie the stems
so I can slip forget-me-knots
to the back of your throat—
do you feel my restriction now?

the razors that fly off my tongue
perk thorns on my skin,
another down stroke on my wrist
will teach me that
you were right,
shyness is a virtue.

no need to speak,
go spend one hundred dollars
and some percent for tax
to cover up,
even though I’m sure your mother told you
that cotton stains.

so make it black.
get your hair stuck
in the zipper of that sundress
and pray as you pull it out
that it will lose its pigmentation
in the process
mark a down stroke
for killing two flowers
for one bouquet.

hold it
close your eyes and throw it back,
I know we shouldn’t be wearing white anyway
but tradition can take a lot out of you
like what you really think—
don’t say **** in public.

instead drag your first impressions
all the way to the altar
and dress in your Sunday best
a flower on your lapel
clear on your lips
a stroke for the neat decline
of the son

I tattooed a line across
the veins of my wrist
and marked a down stroke
for every time
my image
was my fault.

Take me back,
Back to the days when we talked for hours.
When we stayed up late into the night.
Back to when we walked in silence
And completely understood each other.
Take me back,
When we sat in sunshine.
When we ran through thunderstorms.
Back to when we didn’t worry about what others thought
And dismissed them without a care.
Take me back,
Back to when we laid in fields,
And spoke sweet nothings in each other’s ears,
And it wasn’t til now we realized they were just that,
Sweet nothings.
Take me back,
Just take me back
To when I didn’t know I should’ve tried harder
To hang on to someone
I didn’t realized had meant so much.
Take me back,
Back to before you were here, but at the same time gone,
And it was all my fault
Because I walked on without you.
Because I was a mindless fool.
I’m sorry.
Please forgive me.
I didn’t know.
Take me back.