Apathy

I hear they celebrate stories like mine on silver screens.

They grin as they dress up in expensive dresses,

Showing off wealth and sheen.

But I, I am just left here, remembering every scene,

Counting down numbers and addresses,

Hoping I do not sound mean.

The bitterness has a way of seeping through the skin though,

Almost like filtered poison or toxic waste,

A radioactive afterglow.

So, I know they notice, I know they hear my nos

As I fade, losing my vision and taste,

Leaping towards yet another low.

They pop open bottles of champagne as I cry myself to sleep,

Ending the day as a winner in their story,

Dangling my feet over the deep.

I swear I can hear the dimes and coins whisper, but talk is cheap,

And I am not the one who should be sorry

With my body in roaring waters, head pushed underneath.

Still, I hear they celebrate stories like mine in balls,

One afterparty after another…

Their world must feel suffocating and small.

Meanwhile, all I see is cages, there are no windows or walls,

No bonds of the blood, no brothers,

Just apathetic eyes and missed calls.

-Jackie