This poem is dedicated to everyone who has ever had to bury their hero—even before they’ve died.
I died the day I buried my hero
The biggest part of me thrown in that coffin
Of Tweets and ill-conceived essays
An entire identity stiff and shriveled up
From rigor mortis
My heart aches and mourns
The person I once knew
Tears shed for someone I could be proud of
Someone I no longer recognize
Questioning myself
As much as I question her
Staring in the viewing window
Of that hastily made coffin
A new nail hammered in it day after day
I watch the image staring back at me
And wonder
Did I ever know that person at all?
About the Creator
Stephanie Hoogstad
With a BA in English and MSc in Creative Writing, writing is my life. I have edited and ghost written for years with some published stories and poems of my own.
Learn more about me: thewritersscrapbin.com
Support my writing: Patreon
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Getting Serious About Comedy (Part I)
If I were asked to remark on my life and the childhood that paved some road leading me to this point, I would have to say something about all the funny people who surrounded me for the last 26,872 days (and counting). Somewhere along that road, I became a big fan of laughter and the comedy that spawns it – and, I mean not only my own laughter, but the laughter of others, some of which I have actually been responsible for inducing.
By John Oliver Smith4 days ago in Humor
Comments (3)
Being in love with the idea of love can make one a living target. I appreciate your poem.
So many times. All you think you knew. In real life and in the abstract x Beautifully resonant Dtephanie 🤍
This is so good. I know exactly what you mean.