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LaCayla Aug 19
I'm crying in the backround
Of my own performance
I'm crying in the backround

Because I never see the stage
I'm looking upon it
With my own two eyes
But I'm crying in the backround
Of my own performance
I'm crying in the backround

I can see the audience
Tho my visions blurred
I'm crying in the backround
Of my own performance
I'm crying in the backround

I'm crying
I'm crying
I'm crying in the backround

I'm crying
I'm crying
I'm crying in the backround

The backgrounds where I belong
The backrounds where I shall stay
It's where I can hide away
From Reality.

Backstage is where it starts
And Backstage is where it ends

You never really know what it took to create this show

Because I'm crying in the backround
Of my own performance

You never know what's going on backstage

You never know what it takes

I'm crying
I'm crying
I'm crying in the backround

I'm crying
I'm crying
I'm crying in the backround
This is just a ruff draft of a song I'm writing, hope you enjoy it!
Mikel Jul 15
Pour your torment on the page and let the sound leak out of you

Your music bleeds out of your veins and it’s so personal, so emotional, how could people keep from resonating with it?

So now, you get to perform the same recurring nightmare every night. Reopening the wound you couldn’t heal.
DG May 22
I cut off my ears
at a beautiful note

And fall in love when
it's a screeching sound

I gauge my eyes out
with the violin's bow

The audience claps
so I take a bow

Lately, I have been détaché-d
Colorful melody, no strings attached

Take the strings of the violin
Tie them around my neck

I grab the neck
of the violin, choke myself
and say

Violence is yet
another instrument
I can't play.
Like violent footsteps of translucent insects,
rain clouds the glass.
A dynamic curtain between
the warmth
and the wind

Window dancers,
forever shifting, obscuring, revealing.
A one man audience
to a one night only movie
playing exclusively
in the courtyard below
#5 in my Year One collection, from notes on 11/12
sushii Mar 17
My vocal chords scream out,
But I haven’t the means.
My knees give out,
But it wasn’t on a screen.

I haven’t made the grade

Till I’m on that stage.
Jodie-Elaine Mar 14
Let the babble stop
Let the brain farts cease
Let pleasure be your guide
And the poet slip into their persona,
Like a performance uniform,
A slip dress
An existential throw up of thoughts like
Bad Chinese food.
The kind that climbs out of Tupperware,
slippers ready

Of Tupperware and ready slippers
***** out takeaway rice.
Performance uniforms sit up in bed,
Babbling about existential poets.
The bad Chinese food
Waltzes with its guide,
Brain dribbles out of nostrils.
Dear night-shoes,
This babble has ceased,
Pleasurely.
From my Poetry Collection: 'PERFORMANCE ARTIST POETRY AND BRAIN FARTS FOR UNSOLICITED MICROWAVE HEADS' (yes, all caps)
Arisa Mar 7
DON.
ka
DON DON.
ka
Repetitive rhythms,
Palms burning red.
All in unison, we bang the center -
And hit the drum's edge,

The audience
below
can feel the rumble
in their hearts:

Taiko.
I miss my taiko group...
Performance
Perfection
Pour them in a jar
Shake it and give a rainbow mix
Add shine and  glitter ✨
Lose the jitters
Performance remix
Perfection in a jar
Colour fix
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