Ode to the sad clown

by Christian Martin

Poor soul. A joker
With no purpose.
When will we be Happy?
Instead of wallowing,
You choose to laugh.
It seems we are siblings
In the similarities of sorrow.
But you're shielded by
Makeup; a mask.
And I don't know when
Ill break.
Dropped like a marionette.
Too many notches.
We aren't unbreakable,
Just Unlovable.
And the pain is unbearable.
Say it ain't so, sad jester.
When downfalls feel like death,
Just keep on smiling.
Fake it.
You're my favorite stage act.
Ridiculed, fake,
Made a fool, we look
The stupidest when
Contradictions prove fact.
Even though that
Crimson painted horizontal
Crescent points suggestively,
We both know what you're
Really Thinking.
They would've been a thousand
Black raindrops, placed so
Cleverly down your cheeks.
Rolling down like dew on the
Morning green blades.
Were it not for the others,
We could enjoy a frown,
A few regrets,
Some shallow sadness,
Rest in peace, still as dead.
But the face behind your
Happy disposition,
Nothing more than mine.
We are twins, more than that,
Clones. . .

I'm the clone of a
Sad clown.