literature

Questions

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Twilite91's avatar
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Literature Text

I used to treat the backstage curtains
like a velvet wall.

I'd lie down, tummy on the ground, screaming, begging and pleading,
to the man
I imagined was lurking just behind the woven fabric.

I knew – although don't ask me quite how -
that he knew everything about me
already.

I didn't have to explain my back-story, or where I came from,
why my voice sounded funny, or what the purpose of my trip was
He already knew because he sent me. This I was sure of.

What I wasn't so sure of
was everything else.
Absolutely everything else.

So while I'm talking to the man behind the curtain

- my apologies Feminists, he is a man, because they are so much easier in life. Fact.
On top of this, the F-word is not someone I can confide in, so there is no question;
my disguised stranger friend is male -

I know I don't need to explain myself.
So when I'm out of conversation that involves
the weather, or where I grew up, or what school I went to,
or what Mylo is and what his favourite toy is,
or why my hair doesn't sit quite right,
and oh what a huge 'pain' it can be,
when I don't need to say any of that polite conversation
I'm left with one never ending option:

Questions.

And boy, do I have so many,
for the quiet stranger (who I think I know)
waiting just behind the curtain.

You see, I should be grateful really,
because he has a listening ear and
he does hear me out.
He doesn't tell me to hush, or that I'm complaining too much,
or that my problems are miniscule in comparison to the world (although I know they are).

He listens, and listens and listens
to my screams, and my pain, and my anguish.
Why Why Why Why Why Why Why Why Why Why Why
Why Why Why Why Why Why Why Why Why Why Why

Won't you tell me why
'Why' is the most painful word to ever cross my lips?
More painful than any word, like 'embarrassment' or 'hunger',
more painful than any phrase like
'I've started seeing someone' or
'I miss you'.

It's never the words and phrases that cause the most damage,
or cause me to ache from the inside,
no. Assuredly no. It is what comes next.

It is the questions I have to consider when I've spoken all I have to say
And these questions don't go away.

They seep into the atmosphere
of a golden Chapel
and I like to imagine they reach the ears
of some masculine sensitive creature
who simply waits behind the wings to hear my struggles
and contemplates
the best way to figure out my fate.

I could check behind the curtain.
I could smash my little hope into a billion little mismatched pieces
and confirm that which I sort of already know.

But I won't.

Instead I dream that maybe the reason for this engulfing powerful silence
Is that he really doesn't know either.
At least we're all in this together

(or at least, I thought we were).
I am horribly homesick right now. There is not much more I can say about this one.
Comments2
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Can you never stop writing please? You should seriously publish your work into a book or something... I would buy it