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Vivian Jan 27
the curtain’s wearing down
the wood is getting squeaky
i forgot my line
the mask is falling off
the paint is chipping
the backdrop's missing
i forgot my line
nothing looks the same
it’s felt off for a while
make up running
crew is gone
i’m alone
one man show
i forgot my line
full house
crowd is here
show must go on
one man show
i forgot my line
they’re watching
they’re waiting
waiting to laugh
waiting to smile
where is my smile
what was my line
one man show
all alone
show must go on
so weak
so bleak
try to speak
eyes close
head falls
deep breath
shoulders drop
i can’t pretend today
“And scene.”
Bella Isaacs Jun 2023
I put up an advertisement
"WANTED: A handsome man
To play the villain of the tale."
I was in earnest in this wail -
My play is falling as it can
Apart, in disestablishment.
I didn't think you'd laugh or like
My addition - "I don't need one
Personally." Well, I don't, no,
I don't need one, but if you'd show
A wish for consideration,
I'd love a hero on a fixed-gear bike.
I actually needed a strong actor to fill a role, but hopefully it's fixed now! Directing Arms and the Man for July :) My granddad directed the same play 70 years ago - The family tradition continues!
Sunset Meadows Feb 2023
I am from water, from fire,
      from earth and air,
            the spirit to complete.
I am from the busy movement of city
      from the busstling to and fro.
I am from historic land,
      from where many jumped to find gold,
            to find a better life.
I am from the prison of Him,
      from where the truama begins,
            perfect from all around.
I am from nights of games,
      from spondgebob monoply
            from Life.
I am from the seeds of the earth,
      from where the magick starts.
I am from Odin, from Apollo,
      the strong Yggdrasil to protect.
I am from the occult of practice,
      from the forests and seas.
I am from long walks with Odin,
      from his warm embrace,
            from playing fetch.
I am from the theatre,
      from Carlos, from tech.
I am from here.
I am sat. Awestruck.
I look to the woman on my left.
I look to the woman on my right.
I look to the front.
Avoid any eye contact.
Keep a straight face.
Don't give anything away.
How dare they out me like this?
The woman to my left knows that she hasn't.
The woman to my right knows that she hasn't.
That leaves me.
Raw and exposed.
I did not give consent for this to be shared.
This was my secret.
My ***** little secret that I do not want to have but I do despite.
Did they plan this?
They must have known.
There must be a seating plan somewhere.
Someone did some digging around.
But how?
I told no one.
This was my secret.
My ***** little secret that I do not want to have but do despite.
Anger creeps up inside.
Avoid any eye contact.
Keep a straight face.
Don't give anything away.
I dig my nails into the palm of my hand and I squeeze.
Blood is drawn.
I look down at my hand.
The woman on my left does the same.
Cover it quick.
I look forward.
They are still talking.
I process nothing.
Avoid any eye contact.
Keep a straight face.
Don't give anything away.
They are still talking.
What are they saying?
Finally I tune back in to their closing line,
Reiterating their first point:
I watched Prima Facie tonight and it really touched me. This is my raw response to the play.
lucidwaking Jun 2022
So the play is over
After running for a year.
We had our ups and downs,
Our ins and outs,
Our highs and lows...
But that wasn't enough to keep on
Any longer.
You put on a smile and
Played your part convincingly.
I guess you really are a theater kid,
Because you made it feel so real.

I can't trace back the jagged timeline,
No matter how hard I try.
The acts all blur together -
There is no true beginning or end.
The only thing tangible and real
Is the pain,
And the scar you left behind.
To me, it's a severed ventricle
That will never heal.
To you, it's a stained napkin
To toss in the trash as you walk by.

Maybe method acting my role
Was the wrong approach.
My script told me to be
Your *****,
Your angel,
Your therapist,
But I just wanted to be your love.
I was never able to be
The perfect ***** that you wanted.
The kind of girl who
Actually stayed a girl.
I tricked myself into thinking
That I was finally good enough for someone.
I stared into the mirror
Until I convinced myself that
I was a beautiful monster.

"And I will always love you."
You listen to Dolly's when your heart is breaking,
And to Whitney's when you're ready to move on.
Some of us, however,
Stay stuck in limbo.
I can't push against the dusk
And get to the morning
If I can never trust again.
You built a city of lies
At my feet,
And the walls have yet to crumble.

And so, we take a bow
To our friends and family.
We exit, gripping a bouquet
Of dry and tattered roses.
You've taken the liberty
To give up and leave.
You're shedding the burden,
Peeling off the old, crusty skin.
I wasn't worth the trouble and effort,
I suppose.

I want to leave too,
But all the world will be the same stage.
I can't give up and leave
Unless I give up on the world itself.
Zywa Apr 2022
I never played Hamlet,

I was just the performer --

who was playing him.
"Het theater, de brief en de waarheid" ("The theatre, the letter and the truth", 2000, Harry Mulisch)

Collection "Held True"
Faye Sep 2021
I don’t want to cut myself open on a stage,
Make my blood curdle on command.
Applaud me, will you?
This idea of sisterhood, this union
At the end of the play
One lives, one dies, and one has the glory
of letting the curtain fall down
Down on the story
Performed to move people.

I’m not a performer,
Not a thespian, actress or Janus,
I have the one face and that’s all I’ve got,
Like it or not.
My clothes are not a costume,
There’s no cue for me
That tells when to go on.
I speak now, with lines rehearsed
To keep playing the fool
The one no-one listens to.

Do you like me?
Do you like me?
Do you like me?
Please applaud.

I am not an act, waiting for an audience.
I do not respond to applause,
There’s no curtain call,
No stage light in my place
That tells me where to fall.

I can’t keep playing
Can’t keep pretending
I’m the one who decides to walk out
On all of this, now.
It’s the final call, that one last bow
And thus ends the show,
See you next week, with all your friends in tow.

A standing ovation,
A brief revelation
I don’t want this, quick,
Act like it’s all part of it,
Stumbling’s funny, err on the side of performance,
Don’t reveal the truth, don’t bleed on the stage floor,
It’s all fake. All pretend, I’m no actor,
but I perform every minute of the day.
I’m not sure my heart’s real.
Harley Hucof Apr 2021
Life is all entertainment , just like a psychedelic theater, our thoughts and breath whisper reality into creation.
I roam in and out my worldless kingdom
Freedom's reserved for the wild and untamed.
For who cares to know, we could fly our way out as falcons , or swim our way in as whales. It will never really matter because it's all entertainment , while we patiently wait for the emanations.
Expectations emerge from preconceived notions and blocks the transmissions entitled to all sentient beings.
Like a collective prophet and a magnet , we learn to filter the commands to percieve the matrix. Finally to redefine and recreate a convenient  path that is real.
Our thoughts and breath whisper reality into creation, i chose my fun as transmutation, life is recreational.

Words Of Harfouchism
Bella Apr 2021
It was silent, but not dead of night
The sun still out, setting in the sky
But the stage was empty, it was really a sight
There were no performers, not wanting to die

They're all alone trapped in their dressing room
Costumes hung high on their shelves
There were no flowers, but it bloomed like a sweet perfume
Spreading through the theatre, only by oneself

There was no laughter, no clapping at the end
There was no intermission, just act after act
It greeted them all, like an old friend
The catastrophe wasn’t beautiful, but it was abstract

The theatre was empty, but everyone knows
The tragedy wasn’t over, the show didn’t close
Aged, wrinkled and worn
Our Palms of fortune and destiny
Show tracks leading to new places
Playing out the timeline of our lives
Like a show - a Chorus Line
The queues will flock for the matinee
And so this poetical line ends.
A poem on the theme of 'Lines'
© Joshua Reece Wylie
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