Theatre centric poetry

Back in the day when vaude’ville was in town
Where people went to pay and sing along,
To laugh at jokes and cry at sentiment,
Retell for years the memories they meant.
 
It was a time my fam’ly did their act,
From mawkish plays, bombastic parodies.
Where all the members each would have a part,
To photoplay enactments, donkey carts.
 
In time, I was the baby of the troop,
Born on a stage in Portmanteau, P-A.
A trunk in which of course became my bed,
“...is where she lives!”, Dad laughing as he said.
 
The headlines read “Was born inside a trunk”.
The fam’ly wasted no time with my size.
At two of age I sang and danced the game,
I was the ticket to our rising fame.
 
But as I grew, I overheard the talk,
I stuck to my routines, indiff’rently.
It all seemed comical I’d lose a page,
My future I foresaw in spite my age.  
 
The sibling troopers watched wide-eyed in fear,
For Dad, too many years, he never quit.
His work would energize his love of lights.
My hand in his we left the stage door nights.

 
Lights then [ACTION!]
The audience seated
Not a full house, just a fraction

I am the show warts and all
Shows where I rise
Shows where I fall

Nothing is ever, ever hidden
Brutal honesty abides
No mask of joking or kidding

The good and the bad in me
The laughter and the tears
See the visions I see

Experience all the pain
The torture and abuse
Testing your resolve to remain

You can giggle, you can clap
I’d prefer in the right places
It’s not being done for a laugh

You have my permission to cry
Again in the right places
This one man show will not die

You will certainly remember it
It will burn into your mind
Some will think that it’s bullshit

They will forget even before they leave
On the theatre steps they’ll gossip
These are the ones who will falsely grieve

When I am dead and gone
Fake tears, condescending smiles
Just glad my life is done

Those are the people self elevated
The ones from the balcony looking down
My show just grated

There is one person in the front row
She has experienced it most of it
Caring with a supportive flow

Somebody had kicked down the door
Well; my Granny wanted in
She sat cross legged on the floor

10 rows back the row was full
Smiling folk at computer terminals
Appreciating my poetry giving inspirational fuel

Behind them there was about 40 souls
Their faces misty and fogged out
Just like their caring mask of holes

This show will run and run
The curtains will never close
I will be here until I am done

Then the poetry will live on
And people will remember
The crippled poet who could sometimes be fun

The only real aspiration left me
It to try to help the broken
That my words positively help them to see

Help them to see the real them, the real me
To brake all of the binds and chains
Imagine a theatre show that sets people free

Your life is like when you take center stage
And you are the one who is in the spotlight.
You are like the director, changing the page
And flipping the script on its axis. Midnight
And ghost light still flickering. Smile because
The world is your stage and you are the main
Attraction. Silence just before the applause
Comes. It is everything we rehearse and train
For every day so we can reach the final climax
Or last scene of this show. So sit back and relax.