sometimes you sit
and you wait
and you wish
the damn tragedy would
just show up, already
/
maybe you wish that
he was dead, that he
had been murdered in cold
blood, because you are done
waiting and done
crying and done
selling your soul
for the little boy
you can't find
/
terrible mother,
but you are the real hero
you have done the real suffering
and you are really
just finished with
the gods and their spawn and
the life you can't live
but have to live with
/
they draw you on storybooks
with tears floating down
your cheeks but you
lost the ability to cry
when he stopped caring
/
see, you lie, lie
to each other—
because he loves you, but
he will always love something else
first, you will always
be second
/
this is the prize for
birthing a war hero,
a myth, you get
to know you were never good enough
/
[he loves you,
but his people
always come
first]