And it always came back to that question
Staring at him with frustrated eyes and disbelief.
"Why do you do this?"
And he would raise an eyebrow like it was all some big joke only he laughs at.
He would point at the golden certificates on the wall and the framed words that are updated obsessively
Desperately.
The frustration would only increase and he would look back calmly
Because he knows it''s not a joke.
Staring at the ceiling on long nights
He knows with all his heart
With all his battered exhausted being
That it was never a joke.
But he can''t quite let people know that too.
So he raises an eyebrow and points and it all says
Isn''t it obvious?
And the harsh words and swiped tears would answer
"Then why aren''t you happy?"
He stares at the golden walls and replies “I am.”
The door slams on his barely concealed lie
And he stands there with a strained smile
Wondering why exactly he feels the need to put it on in an empty room.
Maybe in another world, he would have been honest.
He would have stared at the frustrated worry and answered all too honest and genuine
"If not this then what am I worth?"
If not the gold he puts on the walls
And the words that never work but are still there
If not for the things he can do
The things he is good at
If not if not
What is he worth?
If he drops the facades
And the things he is good at but really doesn''t want to do
If he stops hearing the words that prove he is still there in some way yet make him wince with their weight
If not for all the things he should do
For all the things he doesn''t want to do
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Who would he be? Who would care about someone who doesn''t care about themselves?
Who would look at his dull eyes dull dreams dull words
And think that there is something worthy of love?
How can he look at the mirror
And leave his bed
Knowing that he''s no longer the only one who knows
How broken he is?
If not for the medals he wears
And the grades he clutches with trembling hands
And the smiles he draws every day with sharp fingers that don''t quite know how to draw what is expected
If not for all the things that make him normal
What would he be
What can he be?
How can he live with the overwhelming need to be something?
How does he live with never being something?
The need to be more than a body wasting away in a dark room.
The need to live
To breathe without wondering if the breaths he takes are the right ones
To do the things people do.
To be the things people are.
Without having to try
So so hard
All the damn time.
How does a human
Be?
He thinks of the countless nights he spent with his face on the floor.
Desperately waiting for everything to stop
Yet meeting the new day with darkness under his eyes.
He thinks of the papers he wrote
The suffocating hands of doubt around his heart
The voice that whispers that this all will fail.
He thinks and thinks and thinks
Staring at the paper in his hand
Not a big change from what they said
A few numbers don''t change much
Try harder next time
You are good
Just a fluke
Next time
Try
Try
Try.
Biting his lips to stop his loud sobs, his head bows in defeat and his eyes close so tightly he feels faint.
How long?
How long does he have to try for?
The numbers don''t change much
But without the gold
Without the gold
What is he worth?
Sometimes he wishes to stop.
Being
Thinking
Trying
Being.
Sometimes he just wishes everything would stop
So he can stop seeing how people live.
How they smile
Wide
And laugh
Loud
And work for grades
And gold
And worth
Without it all seeming like an act that hides something that isn''t quite human
Isn''t quite not.