TRIPPLE THREAT!!!

They are clicking for him,
They are clapping for her,
And I am just sitting in the audience.
I wish that I could get up on stage,
Shine in the spotlight,
Share my thoughts,
With word,
And song,
But I ain’t strong,
The stage,
Once my home,
Is now often a place that I run from.
It’s not that I have nothing to say,
I just feel past it,
And so I sit watching,
Rotting with decay.
A waste of talent some might say.
If you asked me twenty years ago,
I never thought that I would end up this way.
I have been the only cast member in a one woman show,
Performed in front of thousands you know,
But my material these days,
It’s not a show,
It’s real life,
My life,
Exposed,
I have no shame in sharing my woes,
I want people to connect with me,
To inform people about how mental illness grows,
Where it can come from,
Where it often goes,
But there is a frog in my throat,
A cats got my tongue,
My heart is beating fast,
I am dripping in sweat,
What if I belch,
Or projectile vomit when I open my mouth?
That’s just the upper part of my body,
Pretty soon,
It will be loud gas from down there,
I bet,
Not the ideal triple threat,
Singing,
Acting,
And farting,
Not dancing in the way that you would hope and expect,
Belly dancing in the bowel region is not a talent that I know of yet.
With all of this anxiety,
I cannot concentrate,
Let alone recite and perform,
But the writer in me has been born,
Self-doubt,
And my insecurities have not stopped that,
And so if you like what you read,
Please keep coming back,
And share my details with a friend,
How about that!?

All The Worlds A Stage; Like The Great Man Said…

All the world’s a stage,
And we are merely players,
Shakespeare told us the secret,
But missed out the complex layers.

You see,
As this earth is constantly spinning,
Simultaneously,
So is the wheel of Fortune,
And like lottery balls,
We are catapulted into the game,
The game of life.

Fate plays it’s hand,
Where we are born,
How we are born,
When we are born,
Pot luck,
Chance determines our paths.
Manipulates our character.

Must we accept what lye’s ahead,
Or maybe choose,
Pick what genuinely suits us?

Change,
Upgrade,
Control our own destiny?

Quit all together,
And terminate whatever!

Performing…

I thought that spoken word was so easy,
That being myself was the best kind of performing,
Because you write your own script,
Direct,
Produce,
Visualise,
Create,
Everything yourself,
But I fear that I may have been mistaken.
Performing is performing,
And performing I love you,
But my psychosis is now sabotaging my gift of creativity.
When you don’t have a character to hide behind,
Sharing your own art is a very difficult thing to do.
With my acting background,
With my head in the game,
Crowds don’t phase me,
I can deliver,
I like it,
I feel at home on the stage,
But I did not take my honesty into consideration,
My ill health into consideration.
I get so much pleasure from helping others,
Expressing myself creatively,
Reaching out to those curious, similar or exactly like me,
But have absoluteluy no idea how to help myself.
I wish my performance was a play,
But these days I showcase my own life,
And now it is over for a while,
I really feel the pain and strife.
The audience receive a short summary of what my life is like,
When it finishes,
For them it ends,
But I cannot escape my own life!
I didn’t realise at the time,
But I became an actor to take advantage of executing different emotions,
Emotions that as human beings we all need to express and feel,
Being emotionally unstable,
This was a playground for me,
Acting allowed me to play,
Experiment and release,
To feel emotions that we so desperately need to experience to progress,
And grow naturally.
Now speaking spoken word,
With Words That Are Nothing But True,
I have all of these emotions and I simply don’t know what to do.
So for now,
I decided to start with writing to you!
I have no regrets,
Only envy,
Hope helps troubled minds,
But I have been medically informed that my illness will always be a part of me,
With no escape,
A condemned eternity of misery.
A huge cloud now hangs above my destiny,
I am trying to process and accept the character that this makes me,
But this is not the way that I wanted things to be,
And I mustn’t fool myself that what lye’s ahead will be easy.

When The Curtains Close…

When the curtain’s close,
And the applause dies down,
I enter another dimension,
Spinning dizzy on an irrational Merry Go Round.
My mask scrubbed off,
Costume neatly hung,
Lines stored for tomorrow,
I cannot pretend anymore,
And I am left in sorrow.
My hands shake,
Arms ache,
As I try to embrace myself,
Rocking back and forth,
Backwards and forth.
Most people get nervous when the stage lights go up,
Yet for me,
It is when the lights go down.
My heart sinks.
There is no platform to pretend anymore.
I loose my voice,
My heart heavy and sore.
Weak in the knee’s,
Unsteady feet,
The magic fades,
Leaving me weak.
The star has gone,
I am No One,
Someone,
Anyone,
Everyone,
No sense of self,
Or belonging,
Alone,
Just me!
Whoever that may be!?