Andrew Delapruch | + Follow Poet |
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Selective Memory

one of those who rose
to the top, surfing on
the backs of others bending
over stupidly---manipulated
by the pretty face, fast talk,
a sexy walk, a mouth full of
poetic words & all the confidence
a human being could possibly
muster---
this riser conveniently forgets
what it was like to struggle,
this riser forgets what it was
like at the ****ing bottom,
this riser forgets just what it
was like to be young & 
seemingly powerless, this
riser forgets just what it was
like to scream & not have it
heard, to feel like no one would
ever know a thing about them,
to feel like blade down the wrist
would be the only way to
solve everything.

the riser does not remember these
things, they float on their cloud with
selective memory, foolishly thinking
that the bliss will last forever &
that those that they forgot on the
way up, those that got stepped on,
those that were disgraced, used &
degraded, all for the sake of one
human being’s career,
will never have another word with
them &
that they have somehow achieved
bulletproof skin, with new walls of
security built around them to keep
them in tact long enough so that the
vultures making money off their
very existence can thrive.

then one day, the most unbelievable day
possible in our history,
the riser gets smacked upside the head
with a brick made entirely out of
ironic anger, as if all the desperation of
the world finally unified & found an
outlet---
and when the riser falls
it is more beautiful than anyone’s rise
to the top,
it is more honest & with it comes a
justice that cannot be put into words---
to watch the unthankful riser
come crashing down into the 
broken & destroyed pieces of the
bottom with the rest of us,
left alone to fight for scraps with those
that still remember who they had been &
most of all,
what they became---
ah, it is priceless, 
perfect &
oh so
entertaining.

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