golden boy

He’s a star athlete—exceptional, speedy

Whipping his arm back and winging bullets past the batter

Whoosh, effortless, slicing through butter, he hugs his catcher after he seals the victory

How can you maintain such a calm composed look with everyone watching?

Relying on you, their happiness tied to your ability to strike out the batter

Do you have nerves of steel? She sticks the microphone up to his face

He puffs his chest to conceal the tumultuous waves echoing in his stomach

I do what I have to do, I silence satan’s crass voice as much as I can

What happens when that athlete’s zeppelin of glory deflates?

Explodes on impact with a career ending injury, Tommy Johns

He’ll fall from Mt. Olympus to abject nothingness, a pile of rubble, the 99%

What lies beneath the broken rubble of his fame, glory, exceptionality, his strength

Where does he find his strength? the will to go on as a nobody—a maimed horse, a retired greyhound, a lost kitten—whimpering alone as time decomposes his very nature

Why me? How could you make me the golden boy and let me fall headfirst from your grace

I checked my tongue, I never missed a spring training, I was the first to practice, the last to leave

What did I do to deserve this? He implores as thunder resounds in the dark clouds above his face

He walks along the sidewalk looking for what’s lovable under his uniform, what can possibly shade him from his incompetence, the disappointment in himself, the shame he has brought his family

On the corner a mysterious red light blinks sporadically, he has to shield his face with his long arm

He sees a blind man playing the tuba with a ribbon of light wrapped around the horn

Out of utter desperateness, he approaches the solemn waves of jazz rising like smoke from a well-stoked fire

A worn traveler approaching a waystation

The man doesn’t flinch as he blocks the light of the street lamp, the fallen star waves his hand in front of the upturned face to confirm his disability

Amongst some wet dollar bills and loose change a cardboard sign grabs his attention

Blank ink glistens in perfect cursive before him, drawing his awareness like a moth to a flame

He kneels down to let the light illuminate the message

I used to get stage fright, blindness brings me reprieve

No longer star struck I can finally see

My hollow bones filled with Aretha’s amazing grace when I asked why me?

Accept yourself, you are worthy, she whispered softly, as nightmares are cracked freed

Your skin, your lips, your tongue, your feet are my own flesh and bones

The ocean filled 5 times over does not exhaust your loving-kindness

The vast horizon is too small of a space to contain your potential

The embrace a mother gives her bundle of joy is a sliver of my benevolence

Accept yourself; you are worthy

My child, my dear child, raise your voice, I’ll carry you home

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word widdler, love maker, soul mender, staff spinner, insecure man — child in need of validation. fueled by enthusiasm and joy, born of fertile uncertainty

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Noah Eastman

Noah Eastman

word widdler, love maker, soul mender, staff spinner, insecure man — child in need of validation. fueled by enthusiasm and joy, born of fertile uncertainty

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