A play I stage alone.
Act One’s the glossy cover page – a confidence the stalls suspect.
Act Two’s a fortnight stretched to months – a self defeating commentary as the plot unfolds.
Act Three’s a history, retold, and problems with authority, projected from the stage, mirrored in the critics’ faces, witnessing, enraged.
Act Four’s threads unbind the ire, and tame the inner child, unleashed, to find for its defence. Internal narratives reform and offer some relief.
Act Five prescribes the antidote, and revisits Act One where the drama’s remedy’s hidden in plain sight.
The Epilogue’s a know it all that never has stage fright.
I was the much younger child of a few – a blended family before that was understood – and the only one at home, always. They used to say, ‘go and play’ a lot. All of them!
I’ve been ‘going and playing’ since March – except with flat people on WhatsApp.
How are you? I am having one hell of a lot of trouble with that bossy bully in my head!
If you wouldn’t say it to a friend, don’t say it to yourself!