I will be the court jester
But when you remind me of my past
My lungs refuse to laugh
Now I fall quiet
A sad smile dances on my lips
As I glance at you with pain in my eyes
You miss the red dripping down the back of my shirt
Almost as if you didn’t notice stabbing me
I will not get revenge
You are my friend
Not my enemy
But remember this:
I will be the jester, but I refuse to be your fool.
When I think of the color green, I think of the trees behind my school. In kindergarten, when kids were cruel and words hurt more than sticks or stones, the trees were there.
I made tea this morning.
I put the leaves in, watching the steam dance with childlike wonder.
I returned to my laptop, staring at a half finished chapter, the bags under my eyes more apparent than ever.
Moving on is different for everyone, and eventually, you’ll never think of them again.
Is what I hear from everyone.
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