Once upon my wildest dreams
I jumped and fell in love -
A love that shone as greatly
As the bright red sun above.
It was early on an autumn morn
When I first took this leap;
The leaves were dry and yellow
And the sky began to weep.
Yet the dreary, melancholy weather
I simply did not see,
For more important so than breathing
Was this love to me.
Yes early on an autumn morn
In a campsite, draped in dew,
I fell in love with autumn
When I fell in love with you.

I don't know what it means to be a good person anymore.

It was easier when my head was full of pigtails
instead of politics,
when good was opening doors
and doing your chores.
When it was easier to pick out the bad.

Children are gifted with innocence
and a diagram shaded with generalizations
that their parents hold as truths.
Mine shaded family members green,
male strangers red.
Mine shaded police officers green,
black people pink -
a whisper of bigotry, a silent justification.
Mine shaded teachers green,
playground bullies red.
But when innocence fades,
colors mix
and saturations grow stronger.

My grandma tells me that she wishes she could think like me
because she grew up
in a world without rainbows,
where white was good,
and everything else was bad.
But I don't know what good is
when all I see is gray.
It's not a generalization or a stereotype.
I'm not whining because I countlessly fail at using my privileges to help people,
I'm shouting
because I've been beaten down with criticism
for trying to be what I thought was
good.
My vision has been fogged with fear,
and whatever shade of green that trust used to be
is bleeding burgundy.
*What the hell does it mean to be a good person?

I'm on a constant search for a character to play.
I'm always looking for a new personality to absorb, for a being that I can study inside and out.
Someone to mimic. Someone to portray. Someone to become.
Every book I read, every film I see, every character I encounter. No matter what, I always find someone I wish to personate (yes, it is a word).
Actor's curse I guess.

Perhaps it's because I don't like myself very much.
Or, perhaps, it's because I don't know myself very much.

With each new person I encounter that captures my interest, whether it be in literature or film or other areas of culture, I begin to study them.
I learn everything about them there is to know, all through observation.
I listen to what they say, and how they say it.
I watch the way they walk, and their posture when they stand, and the way their faces compress and twist when interacting with others.
I notice their mannerisms, and their habits, and examine the way they fit into the world around them.

Then, I get inside their heads.
I dissect every bit of information I have about the individual, and use it to discover all that I can about their mind, their spirit, their ambitions, their soul.
I ask myself, what does everything I've observed about this person, say about them?
What is their purpose, and their motivation?
What are they striving for?
How do they feel about themselves, and about others, and about the state of the world?
How would they handle this situation, or that one?
What are their thoughts when this or that happens?
And in regards to each of the above, why? What are the things that have made them who they are?

And finally, to the best of my ability, I take on that persona.

I suppose I enjoy this process so much because these are the things I do not notice and the questions I cannot answer about myself.
I do not know my own purpose, and I have no motivation, and I cannot tell you why I feel that love is both a feeling and a conscious effort, or that life is not about a goal or a dream or even your own happiness, or that the universe is alive yet numb simultaneously. These are issues I cannot tackle within my own head.
For I do not know myself.
I know that I feel that I am incomplete, and that there is more to myself that is currently missing. But of the pieces I have, there are not many that I am overly
familiar with, or for that matter, overly fond of.
But I do believe that I can find these missing fragments of myself in the personalities I adopt.

In the theatre we have a saying, that "The hardest role to play is yourself."
This is because it's easier to get to know, to understand, and to defend the people in your script than it is yourself. But through getting to know who they are, you discover more about who you are.
In each character I play, I find a piece of myself. And when the show is over, and the character is gone from me, that piece stays. It is with me always.
That is to say, that I am not entirely myself, but also every character I have portrayed.
They are me, and I am them, and I know their happiness and their sorrow and their triumphs and their defeats, more intimately than I know my own.

I am not very good at playing myself, because myself is incomplete. But I'm fairly good at finding myself through my love of other personas.

I don't wanna ******* hear about it,
Stop trying to get your **** wet,
She doesn't want you, I figured you'd realize that when she told you to stop; that she was uncomfortable,
What made you think she was just being stubborn,
What made you think the only thing in the world she wanted was to have *** with you,
Why are you like this

Women are not just toys,
Women do not want your **** as much as you think they do,
Women especially do not want your **** when all you can say when you're around them is jokes implying that you want to **** them,
Why the **** do you think you're entitled to their bodies,
They are angels and you are the devil,
Please, for the love of God, give it up

It makes me sick to think that you're sick enough to think you have a right as a man to act this way,
That because you have a ******* for a woman, that it's completely okay to force yourself,
That it's completely okay to act filthy,
That it's completely okay to joke about,
That it's completely okay to be the biggest ******* on this planet

Our sisters are being taken by our brothers and we are not doing anything to stop it,
Our diamonds are being stolen by thieves, and all we are doing is slapping their wrists,
Why can't we stand up and stop this


Why does a woman have to feel afraid to stand up for herself,
Why does a woman have to fight what seems like an endless battle for a right to her own ******* body,
Why do we stick up for rapists,
Why do we call women *****,
Why do we congratulate men for using women,
Why do we stand for this

We are doing this to ourselves,
We will learn eventually,
Or maybe not,
We reap what we sow

Stages and dance rooms,
makeup and costumes.
Auditions and lead roles,
complete self control.
State capitols and groups
of professional troops.
Judging my acting,
attention attracting.
Sweat, blood, and tears.
Realizing my fears.
Blocking and accents,
and never an absence.
Rehearsing for hours,
the feeling empowers.
I live for theatre,
but may be too eager.

i want to see faces
with no traces
of the places
they're from

you're from here
i'm from there
this isn't fair
its dumb

my castle is tall
your portion is small
get against the wall
you ***

we shouldn't use pigment
to lable indignant
our souls get malignant
and numb

if we could build paradise
it would have to be nice
don't even think twice
just come

violence will stall
prejudice will fall
there will be justice for all
not some