I thought that spoken word was so easy,
That being myself was the best kind of performing,
Because you write your own script,
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,
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.