The Tiara and the Crown

The Tiara and the Crown You know, this might be my most honest one yet. I sit here in boxers… and I wonder: Do I join in? I know it looks fun— The manager yelling at balls outside the zone. And if I wanted to, I could audition. And what about the makeup? Comparison wears the crown. Or does the tiara wear the actress? Because we never really knew each other… Did we? (Checkmark) I’ve circled the drain one too many times. My binary system got caught red-handed again yielding too many zeros. To be, or not to be? It really is the question isn’t it? Did the child ever leave? Can I still argue with another grown man about absolutely nothing significant? I think Jesus could. I think Shakespeare wasn’t sure. But what a hypocrite am I? To call myself a believer— When I stopped believing a while ago. And yet, the kingdom… The magic kingdom of play pretend… It’s right there. Yet I ask the same question: To join the shenanigans or to not? I didn’t sign the contract to perform. I signed the contract to play pretend. And now Disneyland holds all the magic. And we. The carbon copies. Mr. And Mrs. 666. We ALL want to fall into something that lets us play pretend. But instead we judge. And compare. And that leads to seeing ourself everywhere but here. The mirror, it’s left us with nowhere to rest our heads. And I think is this by design? A hell? Or did God plant himself. And say: Hey, please hear me, please look at me. Even here, I am.