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She finds herself satisfied with her job, yet her heart craves for more. She craved to be at the center of an audience, yet she didn't want to leave the comforts of home. She also wanted her acts to consist of things she enjoyed like taming animals with special abilities and giving mercy to the undead. After a long but satisfying day, she comes home to her loving dog. After she checks her equipment, she turns on the camera and greets her audience.
this might seem like a bizarro poem, but the person who encouraged me to post on this website wanted a poem based on her side gig as a live streamer, so this is more dedicated to her specifically
Nik Bland Jan 2019
Cracked is all I’ve known
Frayed lines my only home
My soul is pouring out like yoke
I find I’m not whole

I have yet to find a “why”
Too poor to live, too young to die
A tightrope walker hanging by a thread
A teacup continually chipping

And the audience applauds at such
My measures to see I don’t break too much
These words of crimson color pour
From gaping crevasses

I form each tearing truth to roses
Each biting ache I self compose
Compressed into symphonies of diamond
The wound unhealed, but heard

The piercing dagger now my pen
My mind plunging it, twisting again
To find the joy of my head sorrows
So beautifully broken
Aaron E Dec 2018
We're loose associations.
Brutality queues the phrases.
Reality loses luster,
in fallow with boot to daisies .

Cowering and embracing
our trusted tomes,
honing a fruitless joke,
that only touches on tones that suit the layman

Famous and clueless faces.
Racing to rue the cadence.
Faking a sweet embrace,
for imminent tears, but grew impatient.

California coos
sooth impostor fits,
but it's a syndrome
fifty shades dense,
and way to thick to fit the staples.

In case you were getting wayward;
our guiding fables,
sentinels that they are,
will guard the stables
and bark orders,
pouring out the spirits
and clearing history,
with brazen logic.
Honestly,
I carved a broken heart,
instead of tapping the maple,
sue me.
Brent Kincaid Apr 2018
I’m the entertainer,
So nobody will touch me.
The truth be told
They don’t think much of me.
I’m paid to be here
Not like the shimmering guests.
They take their pay in champagne
And believe they’re better than the rest.

I perform for them, smiling,
I show them a happy face,
And do my very best to make
An evening they’ll never replace.
I make music and joy all night
And make sure to be grateful
If someone leaves a tip in the jar.
Maybe tonight will be fateful.

But probably I’ll go home
Alone and completely forgotten.
They’re a beautiful basket of fruit,
But too many have gone rotten.
It’s not that they are evil people,
It’s just that they don’t care.
I am the background music
Doing something, somewhere.

It makes perfect sense to me,
They didn’t come here for this;
To revel in the brilliance I will show.
They’ll never know what they miss.
They won’t even notice it
Unless there’s a song they really love.
It’s almost performing for myself
And letting my talent rise above.

So, I perform for them, smiling,
I show them a happy face,
And do my very best to make
An evening they’ll never replace.
I make music and joy all night
And make sure to be grateful
If someone leaves a tip in the jar.
Maybe tonight will be fateful.
Brent Kincaid Nov 2015
Justin Bieber is no big deal
I’m not even sure he is real.
He started out as pretty decent
Have you seen anything recent?
He looks like a kid who is trying
To join the gang but is only crying;
Sitting on the sidelines sniffling.
Dressed up in gang stuff and everything.

Poor baby Justin, as rich as a king
Isn’t quite satisfied owning everything
Has to cover up his body with tattoos
Like all the real-life gang members do.
Wears a hat too big for him all sideways
Plays in the sandbox where big kids play.
Wants to look all gangster and rough
But looking like a lesbian makes it tough.

Poor Baby Biebs with his millions of fans
Three pairs of underwear and baggy pants
Grinning like he’s bashful, we know he’s not.
Far too often he has proved himself a snot.
Some of us were worried when he was a kid.
We worried nobody was careful of what he did.
So Baby Justin Bieber is a bit of a wreck
Sort of like the words crawling up his neck.

Justin Bieber makes the young girls scream.
They don’t care he’s not the angel he seems.
If only he would misbehave with them, they think.
They’d let him act the fool, smoke and stink.
Because, after all, when you’re a teen-aged star
It doesn’t really matter just how fake you are.
The thing is be to be fashionable the youthful way
And let them get a glimpse of you every day.

— The End —