Xanadu
 

Eyes watering. Lights glaring. Everybody staring. I do not want to be tabled. I do not want to be looked at. I do not want to be on display. So stuck, so tired.  Table turning my stomach. Legs shaky and splintered. Nowhere to go—Nowhere to hide.

I’m laddered by others,  stepped on and used. Rear rail creaking  under the intense weight as I’m a platform to climb and take advantage of. The rear braces, unused to  such load, caves in on itself. Meant to reach for towering heights,  yet exploited for selfishness.  I splinter in silence, my frame begging for care. Paint chipped from the grasp of hands that never stay. Still, I hold their hopes, their boots,  their burdens.   When they are done ascending,  no one ever look