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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Emotional · #2075990
A stream of consciousness poem.
When your mind starts sliding down a slippery slope
and you're grabbing on to anything to help you to cope
when the creases in your brow match the wrinkles in your father's face
and you're weary and restless and you've just got to get out of this place
out of this grave they dug for you
out of this hell they sentenced you to
you've got to get out and redefine what it means to be you.
Once you poured out thoughts on a page
in a ceaseless stream of consciousness rage
but the words feel like water distilling wine
you know what you feel, but you just can't find
the right words to say
the right emotions to convey
and it's making you mad and it's making you mean
and you try to raise your voice but no one hears you scream
so you bury it hard and you bury it deep
all so that you can get a decent night's sleep
and soon the soil that you've buried yourself in
molds a mask that twists your frown into a grin
so that when you look at pictures of yourself as a youth
you say, “That can't be me; that can't be the truth.”
and for five long years you go through the motions
because no one really gives a fuck about you and your emotions
and you get home from work and you're ready to rot
throw yet another movie into the DVD slot
and Daniel Day-Lewis comes on the screen
with his Mohican musket and its silver sheen
and as you continue to watch you get this epiphany
that “Every one of these actors is just like me”
when they enter the scene they step out of themselves
like taking porcelain masks from hickory shelves
and it all seems so simple because you do it every day
they all act to forget themselves and of course that's okay
but once you're onstage and the curtains rise
and the most you can see is a pair of dark eyes
the costume is the only thing hiding you now
and the makeup you wear from your chin to your brow
and you'll never tell them that when you're onstage
it's like someone has opened the lock on your cage
no, you hope they'll never ask “How does it feel?”
because then you'll have to tell them the stage is the only place you feel real.
© Copyright 2016 Dale Dresden (daledresden at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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