a crowd, cheering,
for me.


a trophy, a medal,
shouts of joy,
for me.

smiles all around–
they’re all happy
for me.

so why do I feel so sad?

it wasn’t me.
I shouldn’t be here–
they saw something else,
someone else.
the judges made a mistake.

because this isn’t real.
it’s a joke–
a painfully elaborate joke,
that I so badly want to believe–
that simply isn’t funny
anymore.

it’s too real, a dream
becoming reality.
little girls everywhere
stare in awe,
wishing they could
reach their dreams
in harmony with me.

but they can’t.
because I don’t remember
this dream.

this dream was
vindictive,
spiteful,
a painful recollection of
my motivations.
seeing their smiles–
I no longer want to take
the win away from
the girl with the gorgeous limbs,
the girl with breath in her arms,
the girl with a spine like a snake,
the girl with snare drum feet,
the girl with sage flowers and a mind to match.

they deserve it as much as I might,
if not more.
and I’m not sure
if this is my dream
because it feels like
I woke up in someone else’s
body and took over their mind too;
this is their dream.

are they the girl with breath in her arms?
or the girl with drums for feet?

good job.
it’s so hollow, so lifeless.
thank you, I know I did a
good job.
I felt myself working to do my best
and I fell,
and I stumbled,
and I did it wrong,
and you didn’t,
none of you did.

you were perfect.
I was not.
so why are we here?

how can you be so happy?

I wish I had been
that happy for you
when our roles were reversed
and I feel bad.
I certainly didn’t deserve it then–
you did–
but I can’t possibly deserve it now.

and so, I am crying
and the tears, they are not
constructed from joy and happiness,
but from light.

they are constructed from the cruel light,
the angry light that glares in your pupils
and burns your skin,
and I let that anger,
that malicious energy
float away

and hopefully, it will never return.
it has seen the light of day,
it is the light of day,
and it does not deserve to return.

because I should be happy,
because this is real,
this is not a joke,
it is inevitably the truth
(even if I still forgo that belief)
but we won’t share that.

let them believe that I have learned
to appreciate success
even when it feels unwarranted
and undeserving.

it’s for me.
they’re proud of me
and I think they know I am struggling
to be proud of myself.

and so, I am grateful.