poetry journal

jester

I'm the jester. The laughing stock. The joke. Laugh at me all you want. I shouldn't care, right? Jesters should only be there to make jokes of themselves. Nothing more, nothing less. I'm your entertainment. I make you smile, laugh, cry. Make sure I put on my mask for you. I'll choose your favorite: young, dumb, and oblivious. I'm not the main act that this circus. That place is reserved for the ringmaster, the lions, the elephants, the trapeze artists, and most importantly, the clowns. People love clowns, but not jesters. People laugh with the clowns, not at them. Jesters are different. We're made to be made fun of. Now, me? The jester? It's not too far off. For starters, I'm not anyone's "anything". Sure, people laugh at me, but what else do they do with me? To them. I'm practically useless. A literal throwaway joke. That's me! Your jester! Your laughing stock! Your joke! Because the jester doesn't care if they're hurting. She shouldn't be hurting at all. They're all joyful and humorous. No need for negativity, especially when you need to put on the show that you do. Go, sound your bells and shake your arms. This circus needs you, or rather your 'need' to be needed, somehow and someway, even though it's your idea that they need you. Because they don't. There are plenty of other humorous things at the circus. Hell, there's already a clown. At this point, you're impersonating the clown, with your comical makeup and your humorous acts. So shoo, jester! You've been replaced!