Where lies the line between hero and villain?
Does a hero reflect the good in the world, the happy-go-lucky, starry-eyes, oh isn’t it glorious to be so extraordinary, type?
Or can a hero be anybody?
But not just anybody.
Maybe the down-on-your-luck, can’t catch a break, cry myself to sleep, Oh how I wish I were dead: anybody.
Is it possible to be a hero when the monsters in my head take the reins?
Heroes don’t lie in bed and wish to breathe their last breath in fear of the dreaded tomorrow.
That so dreaded tomorrow where there’s no dragon to slay, no princess to rescue, and no village in crisis,
But oh no I can’t I can’t I can’t.
Where is the hero to fight the demons inside me?
Excalibur is not in my hand,
Courage is not in my heart.
So am I the villain?
Have I been so blinded by my attempts of human kindness, my consideration of others,
or of the pain in my feet from walking on broken glass while I carry the ones on my back to spare them any pain I can?
Can one human be so evil to deserve themselves as their own nemesis?
Do I not deserve to be a hero?
Maybe I have to start small,
And be my own hero...