"stagehand" poems
Prayer’s too hard of a simple machine,
A pulley of light years’ length
Wheeled by the world
I want to hook, like I can’t see the moon
For the man on it.
Jun 30, 2014
Jun 30, 2014 at 12:59 PM UTC
Rapidly headed in unknown directions,
no director,
just actors,
with good looks and bad intentions,
all hyped up,
everything lights up,
lights on mic’s on,
even the stagehand’s got a hype man so what’s up?
All the world’s a stage,
and that’s okay with me,
just make sure to adjust the lightening,
appropriately,
need some space to breathe,
need some space to see,
need some space to have the time I need,
to escape these stereotypes break out this cage and be free,
these preconceived notions from the public don’t make me,
and they only define me I am the negative of all they deny me,
in the public’s eye and that doesn’t really bother me,
I offer everything up for free except for apologies,
as we,
four wheel drive on this rough road,
a million directions to choose,
but only one place we can really go,
here we go,
rapidly headed in unknown directions,
no director,
just actors,
with good looks and bad intentions,
all hyped up,
everything’s lights up,
lights on mic’s on,
even the stagehand’s got a hype man so what’s up?
∆ Aaron La Lux ∆
City of Angels
The H Trilogy
Volume 1
7/7/16
∆
www.amazon.com/dp/B01I4621OE
Jul 8, 2016
Jul 8, 2016 at 10:28 PM UTC
he old guy he die
he old guy who once sat in the sun
he had a cocker spaniel who sat in the sun
and soothed like custard the old guy both die
he lived for plays drama actors
many entrances and exits
now where he be
in the not to be
spotted only by our mind's bright light
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 1:16 AM UTC
I tried so many times to tell you how I feel
The love I have for you is one I can't conceal
Every time I try to tell you I fall flat on my face
Anytime I'm near you I'm just a hopeless case
I'm in so deep, I'm afraid of tipping my hand
If I told you how I feel you wouldn't understand
Our friendship is much more than I ever planned
I know you think of me as just another stagehand
Wish I had the cajones to climb off this old fence
But until then I'll just have to be content
To be a small part of you.
Mar 29, 2019
Mar 29, 2019 at 5:30 PM UTC
now, i’m no physicist
but i believe
the powers of gravity
to lay far beyond
the tides of the ocean
and the pulls of the moon
if gravity
in all its mighty magnetism
chooses only to pull the earth
how might one explain
the karmatic lure
that graces our love?
through the roughest of splits
leaving the most jagged of edges
scars ripped through perfection
forever shattered by broken words
despite endless attempts at resolution
and countless finales to our grand tale
we always found our tears
to be recurringly interrupted
by the rustle of curtains being drawn open
for an encore of what was presumed to be lost
who has drawn these continuously?
consistently hoping in the face of doubt
to whom might i extend thanks
for becoming the self-appointed stagehand of our love?
why, it can be none other
than the beloved universe
that intertwined us from formation
expending the very magic used to bind us
to tear away our blindness
and once again
as if on cue
reunite us
Mar 11, 2019
Mar 11, 2019 at 11:59 PM UTC
He hurts me in ways,
I can't understand.
He chokes me when I'm drowning
And won't stop until I reach the sea floor.
He can play the victim;
While I feign the warrior role
And comfort him.
He plays both director and writer
And makes me the stagehand as he steals the screen
Then in the end, as the curtain comes down, he's drowning on the ocean floor.
Jul 17, 2013
Jul 17, 2013 at 10:56 AM UTC
i'll allow you. it's okay.
i got used to this anyways, so...
you didn't destroy me, you know,
even though
i still fight with myself and
with the silence i want.
but it is okay.
you can.
don't worry.
i am
elastic.
gum.
rubber.
my heart can stretch as much as you want to pull it
and, surprisingly, dear, it does not break.
it's okay. i allow you to be
the director
the playwright
the scenographer
the light designer
the soundman
the stagehand
the manager
of my life.
and i, the humble and obedient actor
ready for anything
for those few minutes of fame
ideal ******
and claps.
can i also be the audience?
i think it would be a successful comedy.
Jan 30, 2018
Jan 30, 2018 at 1:01 PM UTC
At this point, my only friends are the ghosts inside my head.
The ones that remind me of every time I have messed up in my life,
That tell me, every time I hear a song from a musical I’ve been in,
Or a line from a show I’ve helped with,
Or something an old friend used to say.
Every time I hear one of those it reminds me how much of a ***** up I am.
How I’m talentless.
How I’ll never be one of the choir kids to go to a contest anymore.
I’m nothing more than a mistake.
I’ve searched, for a long time, for one thing I’m good at.
I enjoy things like theatre, until someone gives me that look.
The look that says they’re shocked that I could be that bad at something.
Both of my teachers have given me that look.
My best friends have given me that look.
The boy I fell in love with my freshman year has given me that look more times than I can count.
So.. I quit.
I quit choir.
I quit band.
I quit drama,
And musicals,
And plays,
And being stagehand.
I quit drawing.
I quit writing.
I only write anymore to throw my emotions out on a page like it’ll help-
It never does.
I just end up taking it out on myself either way.
My only friends are the ones inside my head,
Because they are the only ones honest with me.
I know that they are right when they say I am pudgy,
And too short, or too feminine.
I know that they are right when they say I will never achieve my dreams of living in Washington Heights,
Working at small time theatres-
Because that would mean someone would have to love my audition enough to actually cast me.
I’ve only ever gotten into shows where they accept everyone.
My only friends are the ones inside my head,
Because they see things the way I see things.
That the red scars decorating my thighs make me a little more beautiful.
Or that people will only love me when I am skin and bones.
I know that I will never dance or sing again,
But that will not stop me from trying to win the beauty pageant that is life.
I want to be the skinniest.
I want to be nothing but skin and bones and muscle.
I want to be beautiful.
And the voices, like true friends,
Want me to pursue that dream.
And the voices, like true friends,
Want me to die.
Because that is my dream.
And true friends support your dreams,
And wishes,
And the like.
These voices in my head want me as gone as I want me gone,
As much as everyone else wants me gone but won’t admit it-
But they admit it. They say it loudly.
Jan 14, 2019
Jan 14, 2019 at 9:55 AM UTC
Once there was a man,
he cried while watching the dawn of the day.
He would rather stay in the shadow ,
awaiting for dusk.
In the nick of time
he worked hard to be backstage
he would not let his face shine
and he danced with life on his own
One bitter tragedy lied this same man in depression.
He didn't want to be the stagehand anymore
he stood tall
and auditioned for the main part.
Chances are he wins,but even if he not,
he will be priviledged to dwell on the dream:
Well,
Dec 28, 2017
Dec 28, 2017 at 11:58 AM UTC