Each morning at four that first alarm blares
Laboring so no one knows the mask is even there
Rehearsing the lines I recite to students all day
About how moments in history are shades of grey
How more than one truth exists on this Earth
And we only take up a fraction of the universe
Question all the things I stand here and teach
Stories of the past should show how high you can reach
The mask addresses them as I always yearned
While I stand behind and watch my own future
For once alone I cannot help but cry
Doubting my worth to spend another day alive
Caught in between strict black and white lines
I trudge through the motions as a suffering Borderline
As I tell each student they are strikingly beautiful
My nights are spent shooting what makes me numb
No matter reality my universe is that black and white
Moments of joy are fleeting, try as I might
I will bend over backwards to give my students a home
But I still lack a sense of identity to call my own
When I look in the mirror, there is only a stranger I see
Except in my tale I never get the end of a Disney fantasy
The horror is waking up to that alarm every morning
Daily I step onto the train in a state of mourning
Before that train approaches, I have a fleeting thought
Of stepping out in front of New York’s subway cars
Leaving nothing in my wake but abandoned agony
With no one to remember – isn’t that the real tragedy?
Instead I increase the tattoos, the scars, that mark my story
And drink my coffee black to teach teenagers history
I was barely nine when I realized I was truly insane
So on I go to destroy everything, with only myself to blame.
Invisible Explorer 