Keep the Faith
Humans Can Bleed
I am not a hero.
Maybe I used to be one in a lighter pastime, back when I still had a massive army behind me to support me, to love me, to make me feel alive. That was the army I was supposed to lead.
But then, one by one, my followers abandoned me… lost faith in me…
And now as I look at my supposed devoted army, I only see a small crowd. I smile at them—a true and genuine smile—letting them know how much I’m grateful for their faith.
I sing my lyrics whole-heartedly, unleashing the lies no one wanted to hear.
The faces of the soldiers of my army contorted in utter confusion. They whisper among themselves. Their furious glances, fueled by rage and ignited by anger, take my voice away, draining the lyrics that they always loved to hear.
“You have changed!”
“You’re back on coke!”
“You’re not sober!”
“LIAR!”
Then every last one of them walk away, going separate directions, and fading into the horizon.
I stare at the empty arena in front of me. Emptiness wrapped the arena in its haunting embrace. The silence was almost too much to bear; the quietness pierced my ears and flooded my being with questions that I didn’t know the answers to, but one went straight to my heart:
What had I done wrong?
I told them I wasn’t a hero. They even sang along with the song that they claim to have saved their lives. But they only listened, they didn’t understand. They called me a hero, even though I said I wasn’t one. But they needed a savior, all of them did.
So I tried to be the hero.
But I’m not God.
I can’t be perfect. They call me perfection, but I’m so far from it.
Because I’m just like them.
I can hurt. I have scars. I have tears that I forced myself not to shed. I have retorts that caused me to bite my tongue. I have smiles that were hollow, that were empty, that were forced. I have weaknesses that I forced myself to burn. I can be tired. I have injuries that I force myself to bear so I can give them a good show. I have pain that I am forced to hide so I can be strong. I had addictions that I forced myself to overcome. I have feelings that I force myself to ignore. I have a wife to defend. I have a heart that can only hold so much burdens. I have blood that wants to bleed.
But they won’t let my blood pour.
They see me as an immortal being who only ever experienced true joy. They think I’m in top of the world, looking down on everyone else, like I’m superior. Like I own the world.
All I wanted to do was save lives, and I have, but no one’s saving me. In fact, they’re still kicking and punching me even when they already see that I’ve fallen face down to the ground and no one’s helping me up.
So I picked myself up and endured every rumor that was thrown at me. I tried to ignore the things I left in my past, but everyone thinks that it’s still the present.
My heart is heavy, and its beating almost hurts. All the load everyone is throwing at me has gone to my heart, and it’s circulating my body and it’s becoming too much to bear.
So I’ll show them that I can bleed.
Because I’m just like them.
I’m just human, too. Just a man.
Not a hero.
Maybe I used to be one in a lighter pastime, back when I still had a massive army behind me to support me, to love me, to make me feel alive. That was the army I was supposed to lead.
But then, one by one, my followers abandoned me… lost faith in me…
And now as I look at my supposed devoted army, I only see a small crowd. I smile at them—a true and genuine smile—letting them know how much I’m grateful for their faith.
I sing my lyrics whole-heartedly, unleashing the lies no one wanted to hear.
The faces of the soldiers of my army contorted in utter confusion. They whisper among themselves. Their furious glances, fueled by rage and ignited by anger, take my voice away, draining the lyrics that they always loved to hear.
“You have changed!”
“You’re back on coke!”
“You’re not sober!”
“LIAR!”
Then every last one of them walk away, going separate directions, and fading into the horizon.
I stare at the empty arena in front of me. Emptiness wrapped the arena in its haunting embrace. The silence was almost too much to bear; the quietness pierced my ears and flooded my being with questions that I didn’t know the answers to, but one went straight to my heart:
What had I done wrong?
I told them I wasn’t a hero. They even sang along with the song that they claim to have saved their lives. But they only listened, they didn’t understand. They called me a hero, even though I said I wasn’t one. But they needed a savior, all of them did.
So I tried to be the hero.
But I’m not God.
I can’t be perfect. They call me perfection, but I’m so far from it.
Because I’m just like them.
I can hurt. I have scars. I have tears that I forced myself not to shed. I have retorts that caused me to bite my tongue. I have smiles that were hollow, that were empty, that were forced. I have weaknesses that I forced myself to burn. I can be tired. I have injuries that I force myself to bear so I can give them a good show. I have pain that I am forced to hide so I can be strong. I had addictions that I forced myself to overcome. I have feelings that I force myself to ignore. I have a wife to defend. I have a heart that can only hold so much burdens. I have blood that wants to bleed.
But they won’t let my blood pour.
They see me as an immortal being who only ever experienced true joy. They think I’m in top of the world, looking down on everyone else, like I’m superior. Like I own the world.
All I wanted to do was save lives, and I have, but no one’s saving me. In fact, they’re still kicking and punching me even when they already see that I’ve fallen face down to the ground and no one’s helping me up.
So I picked myself up and endured every rumor that was thrown at me. I tried to ignore the things I left in my past, but everyone thinks that it’s still the present.
My heart is heavy, and its beating almost hurts. All the load everyone is throwing at me has gone to my heart, and it’s circulating my body and it’s becoming too much to bear.
So I’ll show them that I can bleed.
Because I’m just like them.
I’m just human, too. Just a man.
Not a hero.