The Strange Thing About the Antihero (Profiles #11)

By Andrew R. Duckworth

The antihero walks from rugged life,
From a place of stain and gravel,
Equipped with the tools of rage,
More than occasionally using them.
They’ll kill and we’ll cheer,
Throw down whiskey or beer,
And slam the glass on the countertop.
They’ve been in low places,
Lower than the lowest hell,
Charged with anger that propels them.
But they care deeply,
Attached to a fault,
And they’ll do the unexpected.
You expected a villain
With a burnt heart
In a leather jacket
Hot boxing cigarettes.
But the antihero is no villain.
No, the antihero is more dedicated
Than the hero in their quest
To extinguish the ills
Of the villain,
Because the antihero has been there.
The antihero has reached
The breaking point and lived.
They’ve broken and rebuilt.
Their focus is fixed.
The strange thing about the antihero
Is that they are all too aware
Of the flaws that shackle them
And, whether good or bad,
Make the choice in favor of the good.
They are relatable,
Plagued by the pains of humanity,
Half dipped in tar,
But will fight like hell
With the half that’s clean
To carry that for which they care.