Between the Lines

You remember watching television with your parents as a child. A film, a show, a play – you didn’t specify but you told them, “I can do better than that.” And I listen to your words in the interview room and nod my head. I was exactly the same. Eight years old or nine, convinced that I would tackle a part differently from what I saw on screen, that I had the emotions I saw someone else play right up my sleeve. And yet the difference between you and me? Your parents were actors, they took you seriously. They knew what it takes to get you to audition for a part I longed for but would never play.

So while you started following your heart, I was just thinking what you said out loud, because my family mocked me whenever I expressed my wish to be in front of a camera. And whenever I got frustrated or acted out against the restraints I felt, they would just kid me. “Stop being so dramatic and save that for the stage you claim to crave,” they’d say or, “The circus is in town, maybe the clowns could use your tantrums as inspiration.” No support for my honest wish to be a performer, just words that hardened me as I grew up.

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Snow is falling on my hair
and I close my eyes to inhale
deeply, as I walk
the sound of the crushing flakes
forms melodies in my ears
And when I drop down on the grass
with its frozen custard
I meet my little self again
as I create angels in the snow
I see the world peaceful and tender
when I hear children playing
my heart jumps at their innocence
and my eyes create drops of emotion
so I open them
and stare into heaven
where I used to find all my answers
But now all I see is gray
and I wonder
where my blue sky has gone
when I used to build snowmen
and when I rode my sleigh
the world was warm & blue
and never gray