Act and Reality

Detached and depersonalised,

faces around me so familiar,

but they don’t know the boy at all

they know the actor,

they don’t know the boy

the boy I harbour

The boy, he hasn’t grown up

he’s anxious

craves validation

unworldly

unsure

he hasn’t found himself, and wouldn’t know if he did, if he tried

The actor is grown

he’s a professional

he’s got a place

he has direction

They know the character the actor plays, they know it so well

They can quote him like they quote their favourite show,

Of course they can, they’re the writers, the producers,

the actor is theirs, under their direction

they tell him what to like, what to eat, how to speak

the boy is quashed, and made weak

the actor is strong, well-paid, and liked

the boy, he cries, speaks only on the inside,

the boy, he knows he will be punished if he made a peep

The boy gets to play sometimes

but not like the actor

the boy gets to have fun

he gets to go out dancing sometimes,

boom beat, boom beat!

he gets to make friends sometimes,

he gets to pretend, even if just for a little while

no script or direction

he can be free sometimes

But freedom doesn’t last forever,

and soon, in demand, is the actor,

the boy and the actor

hand in hand,

the actor in a daze, stumbling his script, missing cues,

not grasping his character,

he feels strange, he feels odd

now holding onto the boy by only a finger,

and the boy is beginning to make a whimper,

but they don’t hear him, the boy, only the actor

But the actor doesn’t want to be heard,

he wants slumber

and the boy doesn’t want to be interned,

he wants freedom,

I don’t want to be the actor,

I want to be the boy

but I want to grow up, make friends, make love

for real, not pretend or scripted,

to know the faces around me

and have those faces know me,

the real me, I’d like the faces to know the real me

I want those things for real, not acted

I want those things forever, not briefly

I’d love those things for real, forever.