A boy’s wandering heart,
Dreaming and envisioning the perfect partner.
Hoping and praying they aren’t already taken.
Hiding and lying his true self,
Deflecting and protecting till he meets her.
Questioning and wondering if she’s even out there.
Breaking and crumbling under pressure,
Crying and trying to keep moving forward.
Thinking and finding that he was mistaken,
Learning and knowing that people can be heartless.
Waiting and standing back at the start.
Searching and scouring for the one,
Hoping and praying she hasn’t found someone.
Perhaps I need to leave my small pond,
Then I’ll find the one.

Sometimes it’s best,
To hold one’s tongue,
And take what you can get,
The alternative,
Is often worse.
Listen to their screams,
Their complaints,
As they say,
You’re the villain,
The hypocrite,
The one in the wrong.
Ignore the voices,
In your head,
That wonder if they’re right.
Sometimes it’s just best,
To tolerate insolence,
Rather than risk,
Corruption.

Sometimes,
I don’t feel anything,
Not something bad,
Just nothing at all.
Head feels clouded with fog,
The contagious, corruptive smog.
Slowly,
Killing,
Me,
From the inside out,
One day,
I’ll be free,
From this apathy.
I’ll learn to care again,
I’ll find myself again,
I will…

Always the cloud,
Blocking out my sun,
Filling me with darkened thoughts,
Never any fun.
Makes me question the point,
Wondering if the struggle is worth the ending.
Always suffering,
For what?
Eventually, the clouds will move on,
My sun will resurface,
I’ll hide my pain behind a smile,
And walk on,
For what am I to do?

This year, lunchtime seems to drag on,
When previously, before I knew it, it was gone.
What has changed?
It isn’t time.
It’s the sorrowful realization,
That friends can fade,
Just like the rain,
Before you know it,
Gone.
The silence,
Deafening,
The consequences,
Terminal,
I’ll never be the same.

My biggest critic,
The one who constantly,
Tells me I can’t do anything,
Ironically,
My biggest critic,
Is me.

Out of curiosity,
Does it ever seem to you,
Like you judge yourself,
More than anyone else would ever do?
Or is it just me?

There’s a shadow man,
Hidden in my mind,
I can’t make out his face,
And I wish that he would go away.
He whispers cruel things,
To keep my anxious head turning,
With meaningless observation,
Leading to condemnation,
Against myself.

“What makes you think you deserve to be heard?
What makes your words better than anyone who’s come before?
Do you believe people care about what they read?
You’re just farming for sympathy!”
I can’t ignore his cries or his lies.
Why, does he despise me so?
Isn’t your mind supposed to be your greatest asset,
And your friend,
Not one who prays that you fail,
And wishes your dreams end?

They say,
“Be yourself,”
Without understanding,
The whole weight of what that means.
Acceptance is a hard road,
Especially when it’s your pain and insecurities.
The shadow man takes me to the mirror,
Tells me,
“Look in the mirror and tell me what you see!”
I refuse and look down,
Making eye contact with the ground,
Because the last thing I want to see,
Is the mess staring back at me.
You see,
To truly be yourself,
You have to look your darkness in the eyes,
Admit your flaws,
And that you are who you despise.
Then,
And only then,
Can you ever hope the shadow man to spare you from his game.
Yet, I remain,
Too afraid,
To look in the mirror,
And stare in my eyes,
Realizing the fighting,
And calamity in my mind.

The shadow man shouts,
And belittles.
What else is he to do?
Chastisement,
How his lies sound so real.
When he whispers in my ear.
“You have no gifts,
You’re just a boy,
Who people pity,
That’s how you’ve got this far.
Don’t deny it or try to fight it,
We both know it to be true,
After all,
I am you,
And who knows us better than us?
I’m the demons,
The ones you hide behind your eyes.
You should talk less,
Hide your face,
No one needs to see that.
Close your eyes,
Stop your cries,
And accept that this is fate.
You aren’t sad!
You’re dramatic!
Quit whining!
Grow a spine!
What would people say about you if this was your last day alive…?”

I freeze,
I don’t know what to say.
He laughs.
Why does he laugh at me?
I cover my ears,
And try to think.
I have thoughts in my head,
But at that moment,
They all escape,
Leaving my mind blank.
I have no response,
Forced to endure his taunts.
Little bits of paper,
Pepper and pelt my face,
As a ruler,
Taps methodically on my head.
How much can one realistically take,
Before they break?
The Joker said,
“All it takes is one bad day…”

I lay in my bed at night,
The time,
3:45,
School will be here before you know it,
Another day,
In the legal form of a circus.
To my dismay,
The shadow man,
Shows his face,
Walks over to my bedside,
And whispers in my ear.
“Today’s your favorite day,
Monday,
The beginning of the chaos,
It’s hilarious!
Just a little food for thought,
Two full years remain,
Till your life changes,
Forever,
No going back,
As you watch time pass in front of your eyes.
Disgraceful,
You don’t have a plan,
No devotion to even start!
Where will you end up,
When things begin to fall apart?
You know time’s fading faster,
Yet, you’re standing still,
And it’s all because of your weak will.
You’ll go to school,
And wish you could disappear,
Just keep looking down,
It’s gotten us this far.
And if they talk to you,
Don’t say much,
Keep them all at arm’s length.
Who needs meaningful connections?
That’s for saps!”
I want to deny him,
And tell him that he’s wrong,
But he’s kept me safe this long.
In my bubble,
Floating overhead,
Watching people live their lives,
And have a good time.

How the shadow man loves to remind me,
Of when I should’ve talked more or less,
Smiled and finessed my way,
Through the conversation,
As graceful as a dying horse.
“Why do people talk to you?
Why do they waste their time on you?”
He whispers.

I’d like to say I’m a good person,
But the shadow man,
Would say something else,
And remind me of my former friend,
The one I couldn’t help.

Sometimes it feels like,
I’m just here,
Living to live,
Surviving to survive.
Without a purpose,
Without drive.
Like a fire,
Sometimes passion dies,
And waiting for it to rekindle,
Is agonizing.
Like writing a long story,
And waiting for ideas.

One day,
I’ll look in the mirror,
And tell the shadow man what he wants to hear.
That I’m selfish,
Broken,
Hurt,
And that I take it out on others sometimes.
That I’m tired,
Irritable,
And perhaps more individual than most.
That there are parts of me I hate,
And parts of me I hold dear,
Like that inner child,
That never disappears.
That sweet somber innocence,
Of times long gone,
Snapping me back to reality,
On days when it can get to be too much.
I’ll look at the shadow man,
And stare into his eyes,
And see my own.
There’s no getting rid of him,
We pilot this ship together,
And the only way we’re making it through the flight,
Is if we work together.
I’ll hug him close,
And shake his hand,
Because at the end of the day,
While my mind is my biggest critic,
It’s also my closest friend…

A hero may wear a cape,
But that doesn’t mean they’re Superman,
They all pale in comparison,
Just another human,
Whether a man or a woman,
Their motives hidden behind their ribbons
Trying to make the world a better place.

A hero may preach peace,
But that doesn’t mean they believe it,
Often it’s just about their image.
The war must go on,
Never will everyone be happy,
There’s too much to complain about,
To be ungrateful about,
To not see the beauty of the planet we call home.
The hero may say they are against this complaining,
Yet, you see them in the streets doing the exact same thing.

Never meet your heroes,
You realize how much you inflated their heroics,
When you meet them in person,
You see how, perhaps, they weren’t a hero at all.
They aren’t a villain,
Just not a hero,
Not what you originally believe,
Yet you convinced yourself they were perfect.
Perfection is a losing game.

What makes a hero?
What makes someone noble?
Or have honor?
Or courage?
People love to play these roles,
Put them on like a wolf in sheep’s clothing,
You can always spot a fake,
They just feel disingenuous.
How can you have honor,
And preach your mantra,
Yet cut in the lunch line,
Like you’re better than all of the rest behind you?
That’s not honor!
That’s being a two-faced dishonorable fraud!
Like so many people,
Who wear the “honorable” facade.

I wouldn’t call myself honorable,
I’ve done things I’m not proud of,
Made mistakes I regret,
Have demons in my heart,
Who remind me where I misstep.
I refuse to identify,
As something I’m not,
It makes me feel icky,
Dishonest, and like a fraud.
Who relishes this feeling,
Of lying for qualities they don’t have?
What do you gain?
Recognition?
Fame?
All temporary in the grand scheme of the game.

A hero isn’t pure,
They’ve done things they despise themselves for,
Yet they try their best,
To not make the same mistake again.
They try to make a change,
Instead of complaining!

A hero isn’t good,
Or great,
And certainly not extraordinary,
They’re decent,
Down to earth,
Understanding of their faults,
Yet they push forward anyway.
They try to please people,
Not worth their time,
All in an effort,
To see them smile.
They try to save people,
To far gone to save,
Yet, they try anyway,
For they can’t accept,
That some people can’t be saved,
And are lost in the darkness.

Nobility,
Not kings or queens,
But high standards and ideas,
Yet to be expressed,
They haven’t found the words.
A hero has morals,
One’s that won’t change,
Based on who they talk to,
Their code remains the same.
That’s what takes honor,
That’s what takes strength,
Being yourself despite the gremlins,
And the goblins,
And the orcs,
Being yourself,
No matter who’s watching.
“With integrity and honor,
For people to see.”
Words long forgotten,
In our memories.

Integrity requires honor,
Which requires being noble,
Which goes hand in hand with courage and bravery.
A hero is all of these things,
Combined into a pie,
And though we humans try to replicate the recipe,
We end up exploding the kitchen,
Leaving fallout in our wake.

To me the idea of a hero,
Is more reliable than seeing it in reality,
Someone so honest,
So kind,
Understanding,
And always fighting for what they believe is right.

A villain is a hero,
Just for the other side,
With other motives,
And ways of working things out,
And the hero is the villain to the villain.
Who is right and who is wrong?
The common question.
Often times it’s not so black and white,
Nuances aplenty,
If you open your eyes.
Some are just cruel,
But some have a reason for the heinous actions they do,
Occasionally,
I root for the villain.

We may come close,
But we will never see the perfect hero,
He’s already left.
While we wait,
We can dream,
And aspire to be,
Like Superman.
As the old pledge went,
“When no one else is watching,
It is up to me!”
And so it always will be,
For each of us is the hero in our own story…