Surfacing
This entry was posted on 4/21/2007 12:26 AM and is filed under Recovery.
Surfacing
August 12, 2005
Applause.
Don’t you truly see?
You’re not looking at me
You just see the mask
The pretty face and swishing hip
Curvaceous figure, sparkly lip
It’s the glitter in your eyes
The glare of spotlight
Blinding you
To bitter truth
Ovation.
Hey, get off your feet
Oh, just stay in your seat
What are you thinking?
Don’t you understand?
It’s all slight of hand
Shimmering mirage of glamour
The truth obscured by veils
While beneath
Writhes this loathsome thing
“Will you please call and remind me because I’ll never remember by the time I get home?”
“No, I can’t make your party because my brain is too fried to drive or handle a crowd.”
“Can you give me overdraft protection because I transpose numbers in the hundreds column?”
“Oh, sorry, your other left.”
“Oh, sorry, can you say all that again?”
“Oh, sorry, can you go out of your way to adjust your entire way of doing things because I
need so many special conditions that I won’t be able to participate in life if you
don’t accommodate all the places where I’m broken!”
Snicker.
No, I’m not a flake
Not an artsy half-bake
This hair is brunette to the root
So take your rolling eyes
All your condescending sighs
That slow, annoyed blink that says
I’m not the sharpest in the box
Shove it
In your braying donkey’s gob
Sneer.
You don’t get it, do you?
What’s “dyslexic” mean to you?
Did you think I was exaggerating?
I don’t have that neuron
That connection is sure gone
I warned you from the beginning
How hard it is to work with me
You doubted
But now you know the truth
“I need a thingie with a handle and two claw-dealies and a big, heavy—yeah. Hammer.”
“We’ve really met before? We were in a play together? I was in a play???”
“I’m okay. I just tripped over my own feet in the fiddle of the moor.”
Stare-Stare-Stare…Blink-Blink… “Welcome back to the land of the living.”
Stare-Stare-Stare…Lift of eyebrow… “Can you repeat that entire thing?”
Stare-Stare-Stare… “Too many brand names, colors, types, lights, prices that I can’t even
begin to try to decipher which is the one I need and if I don’t stop staring at it all I’m gonna
give myself a migraine!”
Illusion.
You who don’t know me
Would like to hug or throw me
You see Diva or Dunce
And can’t comprehend
You don’t understand
Lackluster masks authentic glow
While glitter loses shine backstage
And I
Am not what I seem.
Betrayal.
Those who hurt me worst
Are those that I am cursed
To love and grow to trust
You flutter close awhile
And promise me a smile
But once the mask comes off
You snicker loudest of all
You knew.
I guess your love came with strings.
August 12, 2005
Applause.
Don’t you truly see?
You’re not looking at me
You just see the mask
The pretty face and swishing hip
Curvaceous figure, sparkly lip
It’s the glitter in your eyes
The glare of spotlight
Blinding you
To bitter truth
Ovation.
Hey, get off your feet
Oh, just stay in your seat
What are you thinking?
Don’t you understand?
It’s all slight of hand
Shimmering mirage of glamour
The truth obscured by veils
While beneath
Writhes this loathsome thing
“Will you please call and remind me because I’ll never remember by the time I get home?”
“No, I can’t make your party because my brain is too fried to drive or handle a crowd.”
“Can you give me overdraft protection because I transpose numbers in the hundreds column?”
“Oh, sorry, your other left.”
“Oh, sorry, can you say all that again?”
“Oh, sorry, can you go out of your way to adjust your entire way of doing things because I
need so many special conditions that I won’t be able to participate in life if you
don’t accommodate all the places where I’m broken!”
Snicker.
No, I’m not a flake
Not an artsy half-bake
This hair is brunette to the root
So take your rolling eyes
All your condescending sighs
That slow, annoyed blink that says
I’m not the sharpest in the box
Shove it
In your braying donkey’s gob
Sneer.
You don’t get it, do you?
What’s “dyslexic” mean to you?
Did you think I was exaggerating?
I don’t have that neuron
That connection is sure gone
I warned you from the beginning
How hard it is to work with me
You doubted
But now you know the truth
“I need a thingie with a handle and two claw-dealies and a big, heavy—yeah. Hammer.”
“We’ve really met before? We were in a play together? I was in a play???”
“I’m okay. I just tripped over my own feet in the fiddle of the moor.”
Stare-Stare-Stare…Blink-Blink… “Welcome back to the land of the living.”
Stare-Stare-Stare…Lift of eyebrow… “Can you repeat that entire thing?”
Stare-Stare-Stare… “Too many brand names, colors, types, lights, prices that I can’t even
begin to try to decipher which is the one I need and if I don’t stop staring at it all I’m gonna
give myself a migraine!”
Illusion.
You who don’t know me
Would like to hug or throw me
You see Diva or Dunce
And can’t comprehend
You don’t understand
Lackluster masks authentic glow
While glitter loses shine backstage
And I
Am not what I seem.
Betrayal.
Those who hurt me worst
Are those that I am cursed
To love and grow to trust
You flutter close awhile
And promise me a smile
But once the mask comes off
You snicker loudest of all
You knew.
I guess your love came with strings.
Comments
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5/18/2007 3:41 PM
Gail wrote:
Yup. I know how that is. It's such a hard lesson to be hit with. Something happens, things change, you're not quite yourself, people don't understand, they get irritated or they don't believe you, or they lose patience, and then what are we left with? Just ourselves. At least, for awhile. But sometimes there's still a lingering sense of isolation that can only be placated by actually ... being alone.
And yet, I wonder. Which is really the mask? How should we judge ourselves? By who we "are" when we're glossed up and performing or at other times? And who says one is more true than the other?
People see something. We think maybe it's an illusion; we're not really as wonderful as they imagine because they haven't seen our OTHER side. I sometimes wonder whose perception we should trust!
There's also a tale about a cracked jug of water that inadvertently waters the beautiful wildflowers along the path. Maybe that's a bit off-key in terms of medical imperfections, but like Emerson once said, "Every sweet has its sour; every evil its good."
And I like your poem here; well-written IMHO.
Reply to this -
3/27/2008 7:31 PM
Urvashi (again) wrote:
seriously, I'm not kidding how freakish this is.. I am not even kidding.
Reply to this -
10/28/2008 2:53 PM
Izzy wrote:
Ohhh, I love that story! As for the mask...when I dance, I suppose it's all there for anyone who truly looks. I don't do fluffy really well. *wink* I am always saying something when I dance, telling some sort of story about things that are going on or have gone on. But it's definitely interesting to watch the surprise come into view--that I can do what do onstage, yet after...I take a lot of people by surprise. But I am both. The stage smile is not plaster--it goes all the way down. And there are a lot of layers beneath, cracked and watering seedlings. I think I couldn't do what I do without both.
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