The actor shifts a little to the left off stage an audience
No longer a player
Her part dictates participation in this farcical charade
Which is more tragedy than drama
Leaving her feeling a drained shell of a being a duality
Now so wearying that in hiding all she exposes more than ever she would have
So many buried things writhe to the top
Her body never rests with the twitching of the otherlings she feels
As they shift to the surface and faces with razor mouths bite
Pulling from her core the hidden things
Feelings unfelt, words unsaid, tears unshed pushed deep
She almost hates herself for allowing and denying the words that spill
But they purge as they make her feel vile and vicious
For voicing truths hidden in boxes
The stories hidden in filthy boxes at the back of the mind attic
Locked and chained until now
A time she knew would come but could not ready herself for
The words float on the wind
Musical notes alive with deep meaning and pockets of dirty air
The creatures wriggle giggling with joy at what they want to release
She fights them clamping some things inside
Determined they will waste away in their boxes and harm no more
Wanting to strike out at the silent aggressor on the stage
She knows given time she can be victorious
If these things would stop biting to the surface demanding
To be told now
Heaving them aside she moves on to do mindless things
Knowing one day these demons will out.
Ailsa
©AilsaCawleyPoetry2016
ailsacawley 