I am not a Hero

I drop the mask.

The bully tattoos a boot on my face;
The policeman points to his pocket;
The neighbour steals my parking spot.
I cower, roll into a ball,
And tumble down the steps of dignity.

I used to put up a fight.

My eyes, venom.
Jabs, Muhammad Ali.
Voice, booming.
Dialogue, logic.

Always beating them to the ground,
Their heads bludgeoned to a pulp
With my wit and sarcasm
And mafiaoso stare that screamed –
Back the fuck away!

Always afterwards, of course,
When I dream about what I should have done.

I have dropped the mask now.

I no longer play the hero when
I replay my life under the shower.
I am an eternal coward.
That much I have accepted.

I have dropped the mask.

Here is another mask though.
I call it –
Honesty :
My crutch to climbing the thirteen floors of this building.
And falling.


Photo by Guilman from Pexels

4 Comments Add yours

  1. drolia says:

    If people only knew how many times I have tumbled down but I still dream, unable to let go to the hero in me.
    Par excellence poem. Undeniable.

    Like

    1. arhanak says:

      You are too kind !

      Like

  2. ellenbest24 says:

    Another sad one unthinkable to me, the hero lurks in different ways my youngest son, a hero he will always be to me. He watched he saw he acted.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Marlapaige says:

    The hero appears in many ways. Perhaps the hero is the one who was able to drop the machismo mask. In so doing you became harsh to self, avoid the fall, stay true to who you are and live well.

    Liked by 1 person

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