Fake Hero – Mel Afoa

Your best weapon wasn’t your sword,
Axe, gun or arrow.
T’was the thing we call a heart.
It was foolish of me to step on the chessboard,
Stepping on a white tile,
Thought it was the right move.
Near-slaughtered by the mighty Black Rook,
There you burst into the scene,
Pretending to be Hercules in battle,
Sword in one hand, shield in the other,
Smiling with the shine of white ice.
You battled your way against the chess pieces with a cheeky grin,
Puffed out your chest, battle scars evident on your body.
Looking for me, and found me you did.

Captured by your beauty and charm,
I memorized every smile and laugh you let go,
Every wrinkle on your face, every scar on your chest.
I would trace the outline of your face when we slept,
My fingers lightly snaking around on your smooth skin,
Listening to your heartbeat with your arms around me.
I would kiss you when we were alone in the garden,
My lips would gently touch yours, tongue followed soon,
My arms would twist into your light hair,
Caressing you ever so gently, picture perfect moment.
I failed to see there were more damsels in distress than I,
Selfish to see your flaws, whipped enough to ignore your dark side,
Foolish enough to fall for the obvious player,
The fake hero.


Working hard at the clinic, doing my paperwork with a smile,
While you were out there playing Captain Love,
Saving girls, saving their phone numbers on your cell.
You were the master of disguise, Mr Zorro.
Always home at the latest of times,
The faintest smell of ladies’ perfume mixed on your shirt,
Smudges of lipstick on your lips,
Pink is definitely not my colour.



 T’was the day I saw you in the rain,
Hands around the waist of another damsel,
Lips slowly teasing her skin,
Starting on the tip of her nose,
Sliding downwards with the help of the rain,
Passionate touch of her lips,
Further down to the crane of neck,
Touching, licking, feeling.
 Behind the walls, I lay on the ground,
Heart pierced with your weapon.


 Had I known you were a fake hero from the start,
Maybe, just maybe, I’d have fallen for your ‘heroic’ ways.
You should’ve killed me with a samurai sword, or a gun,
Or even stab me with the bluntest of knives.
Unfortunately for me, it was your strongest weapon.
Your best weapon wasn’t your sword,
Axe, gun or arrow.
T’was the thing we call a heart.