Friday, August 12, 2011

Mirrored walls, springboard floors

I'm a performer, my love, a performer.
And so I take these things;
The things I don't know how to deal with, I take these things that hurt, the moments when you say things that stun me, or catch me off-guard. I take thoughts that I can't put into place, and the senselessness of waves of feelings. I take them and I stow them away.
And then one day, a character will come along. This character will talk different and think different from me, but there will be strands of myself inside that I find. This character will be thrust into my arms and I will crawl into its skin. And I will open up my box, and use myself for him/her.
And I will use myself to forget.

I'm a performer my love, a performer.
A storyteller, a creator of images woven together by people, a director of words that spill out on cue.
Just as much as I can put in, I can take out.
Some stories do with movement, with imagery, with pregnant pauses and the sound of heartbeats.
And some stories do with masks, and the cutting monotony of a voice, detached.
I am made up of both.

I can swear to you that I am real. Although I shouldn't be surprised if you choose to believe otherwise.

Some stories I don't know how to tell. Some collections of emotions, I didn't put away with labels on them. Because in those frames of time, it was exactly who I was- without the need for explanations and justifications.
So I can talk to you, I'd like to. And I don't mind you knowing me.
What I need now, to learn to deal with, are reactions and tones and opinions and disdain,
from an audience I never rehearsed for.

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