Something beautiful I read.
The voice you’re hearing isn’t me.
The images you’ll see may or may not be.
I am a constellation,
seen by the eyes of millions as something I am not.
Hidden by traffic congestion,
happily avoiding the headlights of your car.
But I’m certain we’ve met.
I was born in a suburb outside a major city.
Raised for marriage and kids.
Protected by police who ticket soccer moms
and property taxes high enough to keep diversity from the country clubs.
Bigot Golfer:
“Did ya hear the one about the jew, the negro & the bagel shop? Hahaha.”
Kids can be mean...
Or maybe too honest.
And adults just as bad with less excuse.
You’ve all told me that I’m not normal.
Slightly unnatural.
Unless of course I’m telling a bitchy joke or critiquing your outfit.
I’m not so obvious --
Whatever that means.
No attitude, no drugs
No short shorts or crooked visors.
No showtunes, no Cher, no Madonna.
Okay maybe a little Madonna,
but only in my private time.
I’m married to my work and to changing the world,
avoiding the one most personal to me.
An actor on stage, a man with a camera...
allowing you to see only so much of me.
A past unchanged.
Relationships too strong to discount.
There’s no direct answer I can offer today,
questions hanging above me waiting to crush...
Don’t make me look up.
Why do you need to know?
Besides, no matter what I say,
you’ll still believe what you want to believe.
You obviously know me better than me.
Read the headlines! Spare me the need to explain.
We’ve apparently come so far, yet not if your legs are too lazy to walk.
If things are so good, why am I still ashamed
to scratch an itch that’s not going away?
Why am I too scared to face the lens?
Should I sit at the back of the bus?
Maybe I wont take it at all.
We all have things we don’t know how to face:
High blood pressure, a cheating spouse.
Overbearing parents, fading memories...
An alcoholic uncle who talks too close.
Love. Death.
This one is my obstacle.
I’m not asking you to feel sorry for me.
I don’t and neither should you.
Some know, some someday will.
But why am I ashamed?
I just refuse to be judged as the people who’ve defined me
before I had a say.
Each one of us is a separate sky enclosing a world all our own...
Why should I tell?
Why invite you in?
Knowledge is a gift, not something deserved.
So for now, I’ll remain married to my work
and out to change the world.
...Even if I have to do it alone.
As long as I’m know for the human that I am,
who I want to be.
And not just the other that I don’t.
The imagery you have seen may have been me or not.
But I’m certain we’ll meet.
Maybe one day - some day - I’ll feel proud to tell.
but for now that day seems forever away.
The images you’ll see may or may not be.
I am a constellation,
seen by the eyes of millions as something I am not.
Hidden by traffic congestion,
happily avoiding the headlights of your car.
But I’m certain we’ve met.
I was born in a suburb outside a major city.
Raised for marriage and kids.
Protected by police who ticket soccer moms
and property taxes high enough to keep diversity from the country clubs.
Bigot Golfer:
“Did ya hear the one about the jew, the negro & the bagel shop? Hahaha.”
Kids can be mean...
Or maybe too honest.
And adults just as bad with less excuse.
You’ve all told me that I’m not normal.
Slightly unnatural.
Unless of course I’m telling a bitchy joke or critiquing your outfit.
I’m not so obvious --
Whatever that means.
No attitude, no drugs
No short shorts or crooked visors.
No showtunes, no Cher, no Madonna.
Okay maybe a little Madonna,
but only in my private time.
I’m married to my work and to changing the world,
avoiding the one most personal to me.
An actor on stage, a man with a camera...
allowing you to see only so much of me.
A past unchanged.
Relationships too strong to discount.
There’s no direct answer I can offer today,
questions hanging above me waiting to crush...
Don’t make me look up.
Why do you need to know?
Besides, no matter what I say,
you’ll still believe what you want to believe.
You obviously know me better than me.
Read the headlines! Spare me the need to explain.
We’ve apparently come so far, yet not if your legs are too lazy to walk.
If things are so good, why am I still ashamed
to scratch an itch that’s not going away?
Why am I too scared to face the lens?
Should I sit at the back of the bus?
Maybe I wont take it at all.
We all have things we don’t know how to face:
High blood pressure, a cheating spouse.
Overbearing parents, fading memories...
An alcoholic uncle who talks too close.
Love. Death.
This one is my obstacle.
I’m not asking you to feel sorry for me.
I don’t and neither should you.
Some know, some someday will.
But why am I ashamed?
I just refuse to be judged as the people who’ve defined me
before I had a say.
Each one of us is a separate sky enclosing a world all our own...
Why should I tell?
Why invite you in?
Knowledge is a gift, not something deserved.
So for now, I’ll remain married to my work
and out to change the world.
...Even if I have to do it alone.
As long as I’m know for the human that I am,
who I want to be.
And not just the other that I don’t.
The imagery you have seen may have been me or not.
But I’m certain we’ll meet.
Maybe one day - some day - I’ll feel proud to tell.
but for now that day seems forever away.