Clown

My body aches with pain.

Fear flowing through my xylem as I'm rooted to the floor a Charlie Brown tree in the midst of a forest of strong pine.

I am invisible to them all, the bruises and cuts laughed off, "It was BMX again guys," I say. 

Brushing off the punches in pseudo badassery indefinitely better than the alternative.

Every morning they wait for me, 

Their noses canine in their innate sense of smell, their area of expertise is the smell of fear.

The cement knows me so well it's the only thing coming to my birthday this month,

"I'm busy" everyone else brushed me off, they know what socializing with me could mean for them.

"Can I stay home mom?" I ask, the pleas in my eyes strong despite the death coming out via my voice.

"No" she says, "you're not even a little warm." But I will be, I think to myself, after running 3 blocks only to be caught and tortured.

My life is a circus and I'm the sad clown.

The only difference being at the end of the day I can't take the make up off.

Poetry Slam: 

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