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Feb 2019
And it’s only in those silent moments I feel sad.
I spend my days keeping busy,
I tell them all I am actually doing surprisingly well.
Because I actually feel like I am, it’s not just something I’m saying to say.

I grieved.
You were gone for, like, three days before you appeared to tell me it’s over.
So it felt as if you’d already done it.
Like a missing person’s body finally being found,
Like a crash towards the inevitable, that wave of just knowing.

He is never coming back.

But in the daylight I’m okay.
No one has to know my feelings on the subject,
You don’t even exist to them.  
It’s only when I’m in bed and the music stops that I realise the gaping hole in my world.

The faces of men I turned down for you,
The things I would’ve said, the plans I could’ve made,
How close I was to finally feeling safe.

But like every man before you,
And probably many more to come,
Safety is never an option.
Security is someone you call to get people out.
Home is a place where I build the walls, I decide who gets the password to come inside.

But I don’t want an audience anymore.

No one gets to see me.
Why should I let anyone see behind the mask of the Great and Powerful Oz?
What do I get in return?
No home, no heart, no courage for finally speaking up, no.
Just a slap in the face that feels like ice water.

So I sit here in silence, avoiding what has to be done and I cry and I cry until nothing comes out but a squeak.
This weak creature finally speaks:
‘You used to make me melt but now I’m melting.’

Oh, what a world,
What a world.
I have no idea why the Wizard of Oz became something of a prism to speak through, but it happened.
Written by
PS
418
 
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