Circus

This is a circus.

Yellow crooked teeth manifested in a wicked grin that is biting your own tongue
Under oversized noses brown from chasing the ass of the next guy or maybe its just the sun

Either way
it's ugly

These clown shoes leave footprints we were never meant to fill
Bodies contort, all shapes and sizes to fit in painted boxes
Forced closed
Nailed shut
One size fits all with the colors of your choosing
A form of pseudo self expression
But there are only so many options when the colors blend to brown

So we close blind eyes
Become hypnotized by sound
Whispers, screams, the cannons loud enough to drown it out
With a crack intense enough to make it sting or make it stick

White paint, curled hair, balloon pets, don't swear
This is all just a charade, better yet a poorly constructed barricade
The intention was there but actions never quite portrayed the thoughts
Although I suppose it's the thoughts that really matter

When everyone already knows that
All balloon animals eventually pop
It's fate with a chance of hope
And my dog, giraffe or fucking ridiculous looking hat always seem to catch that one sharp edge
Leaving all my friends to laugh and ask
Why so serious?

Carved smiles allude to the memory of happiness but tune in a little closer
You can still smell the blood.
We must conform under big red and white tents
These canvas walls can't hold up mirrors
But isn't that ideal?
We wouldn't even recognize the reflections of ourselves,
As we jump through hoops, they never understand that we are all just running from the lion

The process becomes rather tedious
You can only force your body through that circle for so long
People don't break
That would imply that is is possible to piece them together
Instead we leak and melt
Throwing off our center of gravity
Continually making it so we can't quite land on our feet

Stumbling
We catch our balance just in time to make the next leap
Of faith
And when I look behind me all we see are footprints smaller than the ones that lie ahead

With little feet
Tiny hands
We never dreamed of clowns

Maybe some of us did
Tucked in bed at night clutching to the pillowcase
Flashlight in hand, peeking out from comforter tents
Staring at the closet door waiting for the ghost to creep out

My mother says it was fake
But she didn't realize when she locked her bedroom at night she was doing the same thing
Anchoring herself to the the familiar in order to keep out disappointment
Her monsters were her dreams

My ghost bottle wasn't there to take away my fears
Just help me catch my breath
As I was running to catch up

On my own my strides seemed far too short
I never had quite enough endurance
So I strap my feet to stilts
And then sprint on wobbly knees 6 feet above the ground
My head just barely grazes clouds before crashing to the pavement
Tripping over the loose ends of ropes
Before tipping forward only to scrape my chin on the gravel
In hopes that my balloon doesn't catch that one sharp edge