Method Actor
A smile painted on, hair removed from my chin.
Another day of pretence about to begin.
False interest in the latest fashions and trends.
Fabrication of engagement to allow ends to meet ends.
Each contrived interaction wished quickly away.
Although nobody realises, as I act through my day.
Conversations conducted with unwitting stealth.
Insofar as I struggle to distinguish 'me' from myself.
An identity distorted a strain on my morals.
Struggling to navigate life's insignificant quarrels.
Dismissive remarks, I've had a day and a life full.
As insults fire from your tongue like a bolt-action rifle.
Diffused with humour and previously learned guidance.
The gap between who I was and who I am significantly widens.
The question 'who am I?' continues to stop and then start.
It can only be answered with 'what stories am I a part?'.
Like a chameleon meandering, transient through the day.
Depending on the act, and the part that I play.
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