a medley of mange
this group of misfits
laughing dancing
and grazing the strange

unconventional freaks
outlandish and odd
parroting our priests
and glib of our gods

mocking our trials
poking fun of our kings
curating our flaws
as they jump and sing

bent and dimented
indignant to drones
lippy and pert
these rolling stones

theater people

I ****** the stage with silence so the audience anticipates the articulation of words that soon spill out of my mouth.

The show lights blind my eyes so all I can see are headless ghosts sitting in rows, neatly compact in a spiritual communion.

My mind stutters, body shudders, yet the line is plain to see as it was painted on my lips - ready to perform, ready to be spoken.

Narration courses through my lungs to produce cornered speech, creating an introductory-zone for the others to encroach behind me

And there we were, separated into our own character beams while I stood with shallow confidence at the forefront.

Though I'm not a main lead,
or a side character,
or a set piece,
I am the narrator.
I carry the weight of the story,
And I carry the ears of those who listen.

true faith is rare
how lucky am i to have found it already
though to me, it is not a man on a crucifix
but belief that the sun will rise again in the morning
that love conquers all
that things will be how they are meant to be
belief in yourself
belief in others
when friends become family
that’s only because you have so much faith in eachother
that the word “friend” couldn’t have the power to contain it

Confined within for seventeen never-ending years
Greeted every morning by its hollow disgusting sneer
Cutting fingers trying to peel off the layers of this theater
Getting stabbed and kicked in the head again, death is near

Another day, lost in the space
Feeling more and more alien
Piercing the days like a warrior
Have my head cut off a thousand times
Another day, losing my own face
Smells more and more my carrion
Peering through this barrier
Have my body buried a thousand miles down the earth

Existence does not mean belongingness

We are all racing birds;
we win just to be caged.
I don't know if you've heard,
but all the world's a stage.

I tread the rigid boards
and bend myself instead.
Another curtain call;
another ego fed.

The limelight comes and fades;
the sweat falls from my brow
now everybody cheers,
another perfect show.

You will never make it,
you know that this is true.
The flowers on this stage
will die along with you.

We sit next to each other
In the mezzanine
Of the crowded theater
Our matching purple outfits
Far too dressy for the occasion
But who cares
We look **** good

You put your hand out
Palm up
And look at me
As I smile
My coy, giddy smile
And place my hand on top
Interlacing my fingers with yours

The lights dim
And the show starts
But you never let go of my hand
Even when it gets weird and clammy
You never pull away
Even when I snort into your shoulder
And wipe away my laughing tears
You still hold onto me
You gently stroke my arm
Your warm thumb
Against my smooth bicep
And I can't help but smile

I look over
And catch you staring
Which makes me blush
And get coy again
The mezzanine
The balcony
The floor
It all disappears
When I feel your touch
Your light touch
Just glide over my skin
I float to another dimension
When you lean over
And kiss my cheek
Only coming back
To the mezzanine
When I open my eyes

People tend to think it's an act
When you want to **** yourself
And it kind of is
You have to put on an act every day
In order to get through basic ****
Showering,
Eating,
Social interactions,
It's all an act
But you still want to die
That part most definitely isn't an act
That's the most real part of you
The deadest part inside
Is what's keeping you alive

The attention seeking *****
Seeks attention
Because they wonder if anyone actually gives a ****
Or if everyone else is putting on an act, too
Because if all the world's a stage,
And we're all just acting,
Then why not **** off some characters
Shakespeare got rid of Romeo and Juliet
And they were still famous
They were still the stars
And if you can be the star
But still be dead
Then why keep on living
When you're already dead inside

tumbling into a room of other 8-year-olds
shocked words leave her lips in a way so bold
talking about the lies we have gotten to hear, only a few weeks ago
'when we were still kids', not knowing that since then we did not at all grow
she told me everything she hates about people we don't understand yet
i believed her and said; don't worry you won't grow up like that

now it has been another 8 years and i'm pretty sure she has forgotten about me
but  she did become exactly the person she did not want to be