Martyr Poem by Gracie Michard

I always saw myself as
some sort of chronic liar,
Some sort of great pretender,
a person with a mask That
is so intricately designed
that it blends in with what
Everyone wants me to be.

I feel like an actress
upon an overwhelmingly
large stage, and I guess
to some degree I am correct.
Life truly seems to have its
own script, and I sadly missed
out on receiving my own copy.

Was I a last minute
addition to the cast?
The final pawn to be
added into the game?
The last knight to be
summoned by the queen
of smoke and mirrors?

I feel like I am wearing
tainted and torn clothes,
white linen that has been
stained red by the mere
Contact it has with me.

Like I am some sort of
double-crossing spy who
has betrayed everyone,
Who has even convinced
myself that I am right,
yet i am a traitor at heart.
I will never be good enough,
never be a hero or a savior
or even my own protagonist.

Where do I fit in this story?
How can I find my own place
that isn't entirely villainous?
How can I keep myself from
being seen as what I truly am?

If I am too afraid to fight
this war against myself,
I guess there is really only
one way I can handle it.

The fact of the matter
is that you don't have
to be good to make
yourself into a martyr.

You just have to die.