Weirdo
Simple one-shot
I glance over at him and my hold on the mic becomes tighter. He’s sweating buckets by the minute and each patch of skin that’s exposed is glistening in the stage light. I struggle to keep my voice from shaking as tears well up in my eyes.
I tear my eyes away from him and close them, before I pour my heart and soul into the lyrics.
He’s perfection – in every way. He knows what love means and how to show it. He knows how to love his wife, love his family, love his friends.
And most importantly; he knows how to distinguish those kinds of love.
I, however, don’t. I’ve never known. I’ve never been able to express myself. I’ve drugged myself every time I’ve felt something. Alcohol, drugs; you name it. Heck, even cutting! Why do you think I never remove my shirt? No one ever sees my chest, so it was an obvious decision!
We move onto the next song – the song I hate. It’s the song that’s nothing but a lie. I lied when I wrote it. I lied when I sang it.
I’m lying as I sing it.
I’ve always loved him the same. But how is that? How do I love him? As a friend? As a brother? As a fellow band member?
As a crush? Or a lover?
I fall onto my knees as I keep pouring the words out – pretending to feel them.
I wish I knew how I love him. I wish I could tell him and admit it to him, but how can you admit something when you don’t even know what you have to admit to?
Suddenly I feel him beside me. He presses his hips against my shoulder and grabs a hold of my hair.
I wish I had the strength to push him off. I wish I was strong enough.
But I’m not.
He lets go of me roughly – pushes me away like a used toy.
That’s all I am, right? A toy?
It hurts, but I don’t care. My chest is aching because of his act, but I don’t care. ‘Cause it’s all fun and games, right? That’s what friends do; they play games. They pull tricks. They fool around – like mates. But hey; whatever makes him smile, right?
My head is hanging low and sweat is dripping from my hair onto the floor in front of me. I’m gasping for breath and my singing has become weaker.
I’m exhausted.
I wish I knew how to love. My walls are too solid to let love pass and let me feel it.
I drop the mic.
I look up.
I frown.
“What the hell am I doing here?”
I don’t belong here.
I tear my eyes away from him and close them, before I pour my heart and soul into the lyrics.
He’s perfection – in every way. He knows what love means and how to show it. He knows how to love his wife, love his family, love his friends.
And most importantly; he knows how to distinguish those kinds of love.
I, however, don’t. I’ve never known. I’ve never been able to express myself. I’ve drugged myself every time I’ve felt something. Alcohol, drugs; you name it. Heck, even cutting! Why do you think I never remove my shirt? No one ever sees my chest, so it was an obvious decision!
We move onto the next song – the song I hate. It’s the song that’s nothing but a lie. I lied when I wrote it. I lied when I sang it.
I’m lying as I sing it.
I’ve always loved him the same. But how is that? How do I love him? As a friend? As a brother? As a fellow band member?
As a crush? Or a lover?
I fall onto my knees as I keep pouring the words out – pretending to feel them.
I wish I knew how I love him. I wish I could tell him and admit it to him, but how can you admit something when you don’t even know what you have to admit to?
Suddenly I feel him beside me. He presses his hips against my shoulder and grabs a hold of my hair.
I wish I had the strength to push him off. I wish I was strong enough.
But I’m not.
He lets go of me roughly – pushes me away like a used toy.
That’s all I am, right? A toy?
It hurts, but I don’t care. My chest is aching because of his act, but I don’t care. ‘Cause it’s all fun and games, right? That’s what friends do; they play games. They pull tricks. They fool around – like mates. But hey; whatever makes him smile, right?
My head is hanging low and sweat is dripping from my hair onto the floor in front of me. I’m gasping for breath and my singing has become weaker.
I’m exhausted.
I wish I knew how to love. My walls are too solid to let love pass and let me feel it.
I drop the mic.
I look up.
I frown.
“What the hell am I doing here?”
I don’t belong here.