To Dream or Not to Dream

To Dream or not to Dream;

That is the question that I must ask.

Throw it all away for the privilege to breath,

Content knowing this paycheck won’t be my last.

 

You claim to understand how I feel about this “hobby”,

But acting has become a necessary part of my life,

Life into a dead body.

It wouldn’t be fair to call me a zombie,

I’m more a Frankenstein’s Monster.

Waking up every morning, motionless, feeling like an assortment of stolen cadavers.

I don’t need a jolt of lightning on a dark and stormy night to become alive,

Rather I have 100 milligrams of electricity sitting in a bottle.

I pray every day to trade a handful of blue pills for a never-ending mountain of electricity bills as long as it means that I can do what I love, even if I must give everything up.

 

I know how hard it’ll be to become an actor,

I’m not stupid.

I’d rather be starving all of my life,

Than starving to spend all of my life.

 

I can’t tell if my sense of purpose is about to break the surface

Or if I’ll never be enough to suffice.

I’m the canary in the coal mine,

To prevent a thousand mothers, daughters, and brothers a single second of mourning.

No songs leave my lips as the crescendo of crumbling rocks that are my anxious tendencies, drown me out, with the fact that I never get a call back.

Carbon Monoxide that’s filling up my lungs with the realization that I’ll never be more than a secondary-character that gets one good laugh.

As a matter of fact, I won’t get a single laugh.

As the boulders close off the entrance like the curtains on the final act,

I realize that the miners aren’t the source of my grief.

It’s the fact that I’m a teen, not a canary, trapped within a crumbling mind.

 

I can take so many steps to look at the bigger picture,

But after taking so many steps I’m falling into a pit,

Equivalent to Sisyphus,

Because I push my way to the top,

Only to watch everything I’ve worked for drop.

 

Look, I’m not trying to be passive nor aggressive, I know my acting is far below impressive,

So, I understand every decision!

Maybe that’s why I feel an incision to my heart, every time I don’t get a part that’s memorable, or Hell even memeable.

 

I’ve been waiting to feel the warmth of a spotlight,

Without it I’ve become a sad gay,

Which is an oxymoron,

Representing how I’m actually a moron.

 

I’m only 17, and I’m expected to know what I want to do with my life past when I turn 70.

I know what I want to do,

No, not what I want to do.

What I need to do.

 

I need to rip myself a part on this stage.

It’s better to do this every day with no pay,

Than to have it all, living and breathing the decay of a grave.

I need to spend my sleeplees nights,

Analyzing lines in a play, rather than lines of pills,

That I have to take in order to get through the day.

 

I need to remember that the glints in my eyes, aren’t filled with tears.

They’re stars.

And as they slide down my face,

And onto the floor, then maybe some might mistake them for a meteor shower.

Maybe the clusters of schemers who were told to ignore it all.

Those told that their dreams will fall like sand through the center of an hourglass,

Could make a wish and see that there’s more to life than making it onto the guests’ list.

 

So, with this, I take control of my life.

The First Step: I don’t need to be leads, leads don’t need to be me.

The Second Step: I may never see my name on a pamphlet, but that doesn’t mean I have to pull a Hamlet.

The Third Step: I will have days when I can’t get out bed.

I just have to remember that being asleep, isn’t living.

 

The Final Step: The future is so dark.

And when I fall, I’ll fall hard.

Can’t look behind me because the second I do, I’ll see all the dreams I wasn’t able to achieve.

I have to look forward and embrace the unknown and allow the fact that I won’t what will happen.

And that’s for the best, because living in uncertainty is exhilarating

In an anxiety-inducing way, but this anxiety isn’t taking control of me.

 

Because, no matter what I do, I’ll remember that this, this isn’t a dream.

This isn’t a fantasy.

This is Reality.

This is my jolt of electricity.

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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