You Told a Story

They clamor over you, demanding a fresh tale. You think back to your childhood Of the friends you'd made and lost And you begin to speak. You told a story of a kid who didn't understand the world Who never understood how to properly speak Who learned to take in others like them. But it wasn't enough. So you told a story of a kid who tamed the nearly domesticated Who hugged creatures with flattened teeth Who admired their bleating and their screams. But it wasn't enough. So you told a story of a kid who named themself for the night Who meditated upon the stars Who cried out for mercy in the unforgiving sky. But it wasn't enough. So you told a story of a kid who was scared of themself Who hated that they couldn't be strong Who feared what they might do to themself. But it wasn't enough. So you told a story of a kid who hurt themself. Who screamed in pain when they couldn't forgive Who picked scabs for fun and dotted the blood in pretty patterns on a napkin. The listeners shriek in disgust. They hadn't wanted you to tell that story. The story of a kid who meant everything. The story of a kid who meant nothing. They were the same kid.