ForgetThe honors handed out, the lists of winners.Forget the certificates, bright trophies youCould have, should have, maybe won.Remind yourself you never wanted them.When the spotlight briefly shone on you,You stepped back into darkness,Let the empty stage receive the light,The black floor suddenly less black—Scuff-marks, dust, blue tape—the coneOf light so perfect, slicing silently that perfectSilent darkness, and you, hidden in that wider dark,Your refusal a kind of gratitude at last.
-Jon Davis
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