Emmy

All the world’s a stage
The men and women simply players
You are the best actor I know
It is unfathomable to me how you weren’t discovered by some talent seeker in a dive bar
You see real actors, they are never themselves
The shadow of their true personality is an acquaintance they passed in a dark alley once, sometimes they meet up, have a drink but for the most part, he is a part that goes unnoticed
You are better than Angelina, Johnny, or even Clint and god knows I love Clint
People waiting to be discovered, they go home. Strip off the layers of the people they have slipped into like costumes, they unwind.
You are always wound, always in character
When I was a child, I thought I knew you
Your wives, fiancés or whatever they may be at the time will try to explain to me who you are
Who you have become for them
They never realize I spent nine years memorizing the parts of you that always slip in with who you want to be
I had years of a front row seat to your big break, Starring as the husband with wandering eyes and eventually hands , bringing home a check.
Between wives you slide into girlfriends too pretty or smart to fall for your act long
You call less and less because I am after all, part of your last act and this is a new one, a nice show with big lights and better pay
You paved the way to your second roll with minor guest appearances, the absent father, the hard worker and no one really knows what happened to you for eighteen months, there are whispers of rehab, maybe a movie overseas?
Your second blockbuster is a good old boy country back to roots saga , you play the cowboy husband and we are your second rate sitcom characters who wander in and out but rarely get lines. I know that you hate horses, your wife does not.
You scampered, shuddered, made your way to the third low budget down to earth movie just in time before your star faded. This is the cleavers with a Roseanne bite and we have no part in it, you are the country boy, the hard worker the patriot just trying to provide for his nuclear family.
I have always felt at home, walking onto your sets and taking my guest appearance, being introduced to the main characters of your life and then whisked away at the end of a weekend long show so you can keep living whatever roll you’ve decided is yours
I cannot sleep, in other people’s homes.
Your homes have always felt like my own, I too was an actor; for a day or two I could pull on the skin of someone else and call it life.
I don’t know, when that changed
Maybe it was between big shows two and three when you slipped on the role of the avenging father fighting for his daughter
But lifetime movies don’t pay well and you’ve never been good at sticking with it
So you slipped out and left me stranded in a bad Sunday morning movie with no plot and too many tears
Maybe that was when I stopped being able to sleep in your house
When I noticed that I was only coming here as an extra in your leave it to beaver life
When you stopped being able to look at me and only stared at the wall above my head as if you could find some part of what used to be there
I can only imagine that’s because you see far too much of yourself in me
Something beyond the too small eyes and too red hair
Something in clinging on to whatever role come next because God knows it’s better than this life
Better than two kids and child support
You see when you adopt kids for a role? You can abandon them for the next one, let them call you daddy and then walk away with no guilt but we’ve been the extras you couldn’t shake, following you from set to set , the faces they all know but they can’t really place because our names were whispered in a way to show we had them.
You have always had a problem with the truth
I have always tried so hard not to be you that I tell too much of it
I can’t keep my words in my head and I do not have that spark that makes you such a good actor
If this is your Emmy
Take it, call it life , call it who you are
I know there isn’t room for me in this life you’ve woven around yourself
I’ve come to realize there never really was.

Sparrow

For Kesley
She is the kind of broken
That only looks whole
has chunks missing in the shape of some mans wandering hand
She got tattoos to claim a body they told her she didn’t deserve
Stuck white powders up her nose trying to burn away his smell
Brought through a parade of many for the purpose of forgetting
Tried her hardest to get as far from one as she could
She decided ‘daddy’ was a dirty word
Convinced herself at seven that she was a bird
she tried to fly away for good at fourteen
but courts come with strings and she would be no ones puppet
Sometimes she has nightmares
Decides the monsters in the closet are a haunted house and she moves her bed
The only ghost around here lives in her head
He only has power over little girls and somehow she couldn’t force herself to grow up
so they get bigger
stronger
louder
a wall between her and the monster she survived
But she
She was never meant to play his eden
just a candle herself he melted her
Now she watches little girls
and whispers to the one growing in her
that they are birds with wings too strong to ever be caught

A Story I Told In PICTURES?

While I was off not blogging and not reviewing this is what I did:

I skyped with two very awesome artistic people while visiting my father and cuddling with beautiful cats, the two artistic people are my friends Kayleigh and Emily by the way.

I cuddled with two great looking cats, the white fellow there is Romeo-my dads cat and the little grey buddy is Topher, he lives with my best friend now and he is indeed blind in one eye.

I took a picture in a warm cuddly flannel nightgown with a hood because it actually got cold enough to justify wearing it!

I took a picture in a random bra I found upstairs in my theatre departments dressing room because it's a giant bra that fit me.

I bought an SAT prep book!

And I went to a carnival with some friends and took a picture with a clown, all in all I'd call it a fun few months.

In which I pretend I can write

So as you may know, or you know...may not know I am an incredibly awkward human being, as such it's generally accepted that I have to have some sort of passion or talent or worth to society for them to let me live and not sacrifice me to Volcore the GOD OF VOLCANOS.

All joking aside I really did need a hobby, bad humor just doesn't get you by after Dane Cook got famous.

Badum tsch!

To start this story I will share a picture, of myself as I was ten minutes ago, holding the journal in which I record my poetry.

It's a beautiful journal I know, too bad I've soiled it with angsty freeverse right? Well that angsty freeverse has been poppin' out since it is November and also 30/30. 30/30 for those of you who do not know is not only NaNoWrimo, it is the month where people like myself and actual poets decide to write a poem a day for thirty days.


It's really fucking hard.


Like REALLY.


So I'll be posting a few of my poems on here for this blog, so far only my first few are up and online because I put so much work into writing them I don't really want to toss them online immediately, that being said the full 30 will at some point be up on my poetry Tumblr, Feel free to check it out and tell me how untalented I am.

In which I come to terms with...everything?

Wait is that even coming to terms with things? Who knows.

So I've taken a break from my new habit of blogging before it was even a habit and in true form to myself I did so in the busiest month of my year, typical I know! More to the point I returned to find that my very good friend Robyn (alilbirdytoldme.blogspot.com) has become somewhat of a fucking blogspot master.

Then I realized I've really been neglecting her, I mean really since we've both started school and our former place of conversation hasn't been visited by her I've really not had much contact with Robyn outside of Twitter and that made me very sad, fortunately I've got a break coming up and so does she, it was really surreal reading through the blog of someone I felt so close to just months ago and realizing that there were all these huge things going on her life that I had no idea about.

It was just a very odd experience for me because I've always sort of scorned those people who post facebook statuses about how they 'used to know someone but time just changes them' because I didn't think that it was possible, if you want to be close to someone, want to be friends with them why not just call? I didn't realize until now that I'd sort of gone on as if this great friend was in my life when she was actually off living her own wonderful and incredibly exciting life.

So to wrap this up: I am an awful friend, I intend to reconnect with my baby Robyn very soon and I'm so incredibly happy for her in all the things she's done lately, such as becoming a BLACKBERRY BLOGGER FUCK YEAH, or just being a college student and being happy and blogging at the same time.