I don't need a hero

Here’s why.

To me, the day had broken me
Internally impaired, you see
Not physically, more like I had
The reason to feel a bit sad.

Except I didn’t really feel like that at all
Sorry to lie - about my fictitious recall
But for the purpose of narrative consequence
And for this to all make a little more sense

And for me to acquire from you
Synthetic sympathy for feelings untrue
It’s easier than actually being upset this way
So I did. I did. I had a terrible day.

Except you all know, that I didn’t.

But say I did - say I’m utterly despairing
Over something so unfortunate that really needs repairing
In the foreground of a derelict backdrop that looks upsetting.
I have nestled quite nicely in my fabricated setting.

It’d look very miserable and forlorn
My face would be shadowy, my feelings withdrawn,
My manner would be tepid, and my mood low
And to hastily slide back to topic -

I would look for a hero.


To free me from depressive chronic hooks
I search curiously through comic books
And strictly for the purpose of narrative ease,
Just play along and believe I have these.



I liked the webby-man, with the red suit
With the wrists with which white webbing shoots
And that other guy - that Superb Gent…
I think he hangs out with Clark Kent?

Now that guy is a hero. So incandescent
But there is one glowing flaw present
Although you could never call his depiction dull

He’s

Fictional
Fictional
Fictional

How can I love a hero who I know isn’t really there
How can I look up to a man in bright red underwear
If I was dangling upside down off a burning building wrecked,
The only thing being spared that day would be my self-respect

I’ve checked, and I’ve checked.
There’s nothing left to inspect.
A comic book hero is not someone I’ll heed
Pencilled rutting biceps are just not what I need.

So I feed and I feed
My mind more as I read
About Gulliver, Scout and Robinson Crusoe
Always aware that their stories aren’t true so

Sorry, Mister Daniel Defoe.
Congrats on the book and all that, And although
You could never call your depiction dull

They’re

FICTIONAL
FICTIONAL
FICTIONAL

So I disregard every book, every comic and memoir
Of my apparently extensive prose repertoire
Maybe I’ve been looking in all the wrong places
Erroneous names, gazing into wrong faces

Maybe it’s family and my companions
Who I should look up to right down from steep canyons
As my mentors to me, the simple protégé
Rather than just bulk up and do things my way…

Except that’s the thing. Why must I size
Up everyone and look into the eyes
Of another whose fortunes have been greatly embellished
Who’s journeys have been long and decidedly hellish

I can save my own life quite easily.
I don’t need to wear PVC
I don’t need someone to behave heroically.
The hero - dare I say, is me.

And often I’d call my depiction dull
But at least I’m not

Fictional
Fictional
Fictional.