Know me

Know me.
Learn the odd little moments
The things I say.
When I talk in that weird little way.
The rest of the world keeps moving by,
never knowing me, or why
I sing in foreign tongue.

They pity me 
but they do not understand the words 
that I speak.
It seem that only I can see
this world was never meant for me,
as I move through in nothingness
you offer friendship, but none the less
you don't understand.

So take time,
Listen to my nervous rambles
in a strange lilt.
Believe me in what I say
when I tell about the strange way
that I came to be in this place
where I am ever out of place
and know no home.

So learn me
every moment that made me
this outcast.
See the scars that make me run
when you say something can't be done
and see the war that I must wage 
and against my fear and all my rage
to find strength.

Know me,
know the demons that torment
my very soul.
The shadows dancing in the dim
that take me back to the times when
I was strong enough to face the
world, back when I had a place
where I could belong.

See the
burden I must bear with each
passing day.
The words spin around me in colors blending
with memories that are ever changing, blending
with things that I am told are impossible
in a words were all is plausible,
but now I wonder...

Was it real?
Every fading moment of my life
filled with magic
and the wonder of things existing in a strange
world that says the rules are firm and labels me insane
because I remember so vividly
how the fire would dance gracefully
to the rhythm of a drum.

And the songs
would float airily through the night 
painting pictures.
And I would watch as the animals danced
and the the women in flowing dresses entranced
the men who spoke of chivalry in verse
and the elders warned that times get worse
before the spring will come.

Am I lost?
Did I wonder beyond the veil of my world
becoming trapped?
Or is it as they say that nothing, 
the world I knew was nothing
but a summers dream that children chase
and then forget when they enter the race
to the grave?

But I remember.
I remember so vividly
the details.
I still have buttons and strange coins.
I still remember ancient poems.
I still have that broken wing from
the girl who lived in that distant kingdom.
They say can't exist.

Learn me.
Learn the secrets that I keep from fear
of what the world will say,
if they could see the past I lived.
So strange and fantastic, there is nothing I would give 
to trade the past that created me. 
So I ask not for sympathy
but only for one to believe.

Really listen 
and I'll give you my trust and share 
my secrets.
My longings, my fears, I am an open book.
All you have to do is take the time and look.
At this strange freak that stand alone,
lost, out of place, longing for a home
in a monotone world.

And I live
a life without regrets for my mistakes,
there is nothing I would change.
But sometimes when the smell reminds me
of the long dead place I used to be,
Or a moment at the picture show...
Oh, you call those movies. I should know
the way you speak by now.

I can't go back
to the place that my heart yearns for
as it's gone, forever.
Like a candle in the wind it's snuffed out.
Gone, shattered, broken, faded out
into nothingness and void,
all but the memories destroyed,
blown away like smoke.

Close your eyes
And let your memories travel back
into a time of wonder.
Remember puppet shows and dragons slain,
remember magic tricks, let your thoughts remain,
enchanted by music strange and haunting,
the mysteries ever daunting,
as you entered.

Remember
the wind rush past as a bird on wing
taught you how to fly!
Your racing heart as he answered his masters call.
Remember that night, the play, the stage, the ball?
Remember the usher leading you to your seat?
The youth whose shirt was pressed and neat?
With buckles at the knee?

And so, 
the play was fine, curtain dropped,
and you left the bench,
following the crowd to the after show,
where fire danced and you could know
your future for only a little change
and the world would seem to rearrange,
and the party would begin.

Remember now?
Is it still foggy in your mind the circus freaks
that stood before
you as you drank and laughed and gawked?
They were living dreams how could you not? 
And that usher child from before
now with pamphlets and "thank you's" at the door,
That child was me.

Know me!
Call me a freak, I take great pride
in the fact.
I am a product of your dreams. But when
the time came for the dream to end
we were left here in this world, alone.
I'm trapped while my heart longs to roam
through waking dreams again.

But alas! Every show must end.

Still I pray you'll all dream again.

Reviews

[R Smith]

I will put this in my library, mainly because it is superb writing but also because i need to read and re-read to find every little detail that i could miss in the noise and confusion of reading in a hurry, i want to savour this, so far i think we have something in common, i have felt that exclusion from the world and you have written it in some detail, thank you for this personal writing of yours that has given me a reflection on my life :)

[Kitalia Emme]

Thank you! I always enjoy your writing as well. And I agree, our writings so share a certain likeness in the emotion that creates them.

[Alfred Kukitz]

Your piece reads like a great work of art with a dream that encompasses a biosphere. So much joy and beauty in your pen and ink.

[Kitalia Emme]

Thank you! Your words mean a lot to me, I am honored. Truly honored.

[linear]

Well that was some walk.
Often we read and get lost in the pictures
we forget the words.
We grow up I guess, leave that life behind
who but ourselves can truly know it.
Yet we yearn for someone not just anyone to take the time
and at least ask, walk back with us to that magical life
where our dreams lay buried.

I may well be far off the mark here
but I sense an almost religious theme....

Your writing is quite wonderful.

[Kitalia Emme]

Thank you so much, it means a lot to know that you enjoy my writing.

It is actually not religious, but literal. For 7 years (from when I was 6 till I was 13) my mother had employment with a traveling theater. When I was 13 she became a director, and when I was 17 a producer. This was, and still is a fantastic and "stranger then fiction" part of my life that my peers still do not comprehend. Growing up of the set, knowing the actors, meeting people who the word reveres as 'unreachable'. It has been an unusual road to finding people who could accept me, because at some point in every friendship the past will come up, and so will the family...

I am glad to say that I have found people who accept that there are things that seem as though I made it all up. I now have a place where I belong.
When I wrote this that was, sadly, not the case.

It is fascinating to me, though, to see what you were able to derive from this. Thank you for the review!