𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐧

4 0 0
                                    

it holds onto me
like a leech, sucking
away all the life and
the joy and
the happiness that it can.
it once was the one thing
i was living for.
it was a sanctuary
filled with serene images
of those who came before me.
it was the place
where every good memory lived.
my friends, family, mentors,
and elders all lived there singing
continuous songs at all hours
of the night and day.
it was a place of new ideas,
imaginative creations, and fun.
but it has become an abandoned,
bitter place as have its inhabitants.
every single thing that was
great about it is ruined.
every person who made it joyful
has graduated on to something more.
every prop that stood for something
has been thrown away or doesn't
matter anymore.
every barrier has been put up
and every space became bare.
and i was passed a once golden baton
with the perfect embellishments
and the sweet scent of home.
but that baton has become tarnished
and ratty and dark.
all the pride, joy, and dignity that
the baton once symbolized
has been murdered and done away with.
every outpouring feeling and
tender moment that the baton possessed
was gone.
and i in turn was torn apart
piece by piece.
with every sly and backhanded statement,
every off putting phrase,
every ignorant comment and action.
everything.
i had to stand there
and watch what i'd built fall apart
and crumble to the ground
like a cookie.
and i sit here now and ask myself
what i could have done better
what i could have done to save it all
as i usually did.
because i blame myself for whatever
is going to happen
when i pass the baton
down to someone else and bestow
my position upon them.
i blame myself for every
missed opportunity and bitter
person out there who didn't' get even
a sliver of what they wanted.
i blame myself because i failed everyone.
i went in so promising and
came out so disappointing.
and there was nothing i could do
to change it.
there was no way to stop it.
but i wish i could have.
so now i peel that leech away and
throw it back into the murky waters
where it will stay for a long time
because these things don't
disappear overnight.
because this isn't a nightmare,
this a lucid dream.
this is an unmistakable year
with irregular expectations and
realities.
and those kinds of years
never go away after just one.

written on: april 6th, 2021

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫Où les histoires vivent. Découvrez maintenant