clinton barton, clint.

you are purple because it is obnoxious 
just like you.

people don't like you 
they don't like your bow, your tricked-up arrows 
your disobedience 
singular loyalty to two people

but you don't have a family 
you just have kate bishop, a namesake you don't know how to pass on 
your handler and your partner 
fire and control in turn 

and after the blue, 
the coldness of loki in your head 
you don't know who to trust anymore 
you don't know how to be accountable for something you did, didn't do

sometimes you can hear his voice in your head and you shudder
the one thing you have always valued is your autonomy

after barney, after the circus 
your parents gone and your older brother the way he always was 
a scoundrel, a thief, you were too but you were never him 

(it takes you years to convince yourself of that)

(sometimes late at night you can see his face)

and then there was trickshot, 
and blood and death and you learned how to survive 
soft people don't make it 

you have ragged edges and calloused hands 
and sometimes when you look at kate you think that you've failed her with your legacy 
but you think that there is still some kindness left inside you 
far down where the light doesn't reach 

and you, you are deaf
deaf but not stupid, 
even though they treat you like a child 
or just mock you 
when they see the hearing aids

and s.h.i.e.l.d. gave you structure 
gave you missions and a target 
and then s.h.i.e.l.d. was gone. 

and they were bad 

does that mean that you're bad too?

you don't know. 
everyone you love dies or leaves you. 

sometimes you think the world would be better off if you just didn't love at all. 

The End

0 comments about this poem Feed