An actor is a clean slate
White as paper, lying in wait
For a pencil tip to grace its surface
Draw alive a story, giving chase

An actor is a full glass of water
Blocking to memorize, lines to remember
Brimming with character pride
Never pausing, never breaking stride

These are the things they tell us to do
But behind every actor, there's a person too
A person with their own stories to tell
With their own emotions they will befell

An actor can be a sly, cunning liar
Or can be called out for having his pants on fire
For this actor isn't acting, but merely himself
Any role he holds is packed up, resting on a shelf

An actor cries onstage
Bravo, some roses, a round of applause
An actor cries offstage
Tissue, a hug, don't even pause

Never accuse an actor
Of crocodile tears and cries
Every actor has a heart and mind
Just like anyone, you and I

Acting is a skill, you see
One I tend to sometimes hide
For I've been questioned if I lie
But...
I am good at improvise

Derick knew what he had done,
To earn the impression of delinquency.
He had broken the law many times,
And fought with people frequently.

His mother branded him a danger,
To society and himself.
His father branded him a stranger,
His real son lived upon a shelf.

"See this boy here?" his dad would say,
Tapping a photograph of young Derick.
He remembered that day,
When life had been more generic.

That was before his father slouched alone,
Bottle in palm of hand,
Talking to women on the phone,
What a role model, what a man.

"I see the boy," Derrick said,
His voice quiet as night.
"But I don't see the man,
Who prompted me to fight."

Little Derik came across his father,
Back then, talking to his women,
He managed to anger the man,
Who hit him then claimed to be kiddin'.

His father flushed with anger,
He hit his son in the face.
"Don't you dare say that,
You know your place!"

Derick, he was deemed society's menace,
Few cared that his father drove him so,
I hope that you will judge less,
For you simply never know.

You can’t hear my screams through this house’s thin walls
I can’t reach the shore in your paper lifeboat
You can’t pull me up as I drown while afloat
I can’t help but by this spiralling stairwell be enthralled

I leap over, hurtling towards the water beneath
Blood splatters on the walls, crimson swirls in the sea
You scrub the water coarse, trying to strain the impurity
But my wounds are still open; they continue to bleed

The cycle keeps repeating, as history tends to
You’re tired of all this melodrama that keeps unfolding anew
You think it’s all rehearsed, that it is not impromptu
So I perform behind closed doors, waiting for your cue

During the entr’acte, I wait in the dark
The spotlight’s gone out, the character has not
I have been typecast in this role for too long
It’s become second nature so I play along

Why do I have to act the part
To get the help I need

I just want this all to end
and for someone to believe

That maybe if I died
I could finally breathe

Is it acting
or adapting?
smiling for the show
of customers:
bright, dapper,
cheery and proud -
pushing product
with a knowing smile,
words animated,
confident and collected.
once they leave i sit and
ponder, I see the stars
in their films and admire
from afar, lamenting that I
cannot act - but can I?

i see you across the bar and i know you're like me,
an actor in the play of genuine happiness,
and when you buy me a drink i don't refuse
because we understand each other, and,
at least for a few hours, i can be what you need.

tonight we will be swearing love to each other
in rhymed couplets and the touch of sweaty skin,
because that is how we lie, you and me,
and we have grown so accustomed to this way of
never telling the truth that we convinced ourselves
we were meant to be actors, that we feel the truth.

tonight i will swear to be yours, and you mine
while we both wish for someone else's hands on our skin
and their lips on our mouth, sighing iloveyou.
we are the same, you and me, buried 10 feet under
the hard concrete of a love that will never be
and all we can do some nights to lessen the pain
is find others like us, and pretend to love them.

You see them
—ravishing in their chosen craft and marvelous before your sight
Resplendent creatures born from the union of fabricated thoughts and witty artistry
Tantalizing celestials that grow larger,
making you feel like you're engulfed in their searing arms—
branding you with marks of inefficiency

You look down
—unsure of your own atrocious behavior and crude mimicry
Revolting are you, you believe with utmost conviction and undying self-loathing
A carnal wanton of jealousy,
insisting that you will never share the same grandeur as them—
and you miniscule yourself

You stand center stage,
—on a platform where an audience could only ridicule you from below
Unnerving is their unmerciful criticisms to your lithe skill of transformation
******* savages are they,
when oceans of daggers spill forth from their mouths—
prepared to plunge into shame

but this feeling you have in your chest,
that distinguished bass filled tune
is unmistakably and undeniably,
*Unrehearsed.

Dreams are all I have
But none are accomplished
So they stay dreams

But soon they'll become more

They'll become achievements, milestones, moments of happiness
And a thousand more things
That mark the beginning of me
and the end of my past
~ *B.H