It's a poem by the way, but not a sonnet or a romantic piece of art, just me finding something funny. I hope you enjoy it, and perhaps in many ways associate to it...... Oh and if you figure out what i'm on about before you get to the end (if indeed you read the whole thing) then well done!
A Terrible Thing
by Chris Wilson
It begins unannounced but requires an announcement,
feelings so familiar they fill one with dread.
Unavoidable, inevitable, inescapable and here,
acceptance is needed, and off one must tread.
Rising, we look upon inquisitive friends faces,
quick remark is given, never too crass or too crude.
As one turns away, stomach routinely a flutter,
we internally berate our extra drink with our food.
Pushing through herds of potential spectators,
limbs like lead we lumber toward.
Desperate we feel, yet nervous, uneasy,
we question whether we deserve this unhappy award.
Conscious of lights, of music and of people,
the hazy noise acts as a painful remind.
This has happened before, these vary same moments,
these tokens and prompts, they're all so unkind.
It amazes us, nasally, the stink we sense first,
through grimace, through squint, through wretch we proceed.
Shoes are sloshing and splashing through puddles of stench,
while we pray, we hope, and we yearn to succeed.
Of course what we want is locked, ruined, unavailable,
it hurts to linger outside un-enterable doors.
People are looking and judging and people are knowing,
we can wait no longer, it hurts, yet we pause.
We join a new line with waxed hair in mirrors,
sacrificing vanity in the hope of getting quieter.
Eagle eyed, stench adjusted we scan for a corner,
the pain is too much, the need to be lighter.
We move forward now to the empty space offered,
sweat upon brow, our nerves make us funny.
Fingertips, foolishly fumbling for buckles,
to be alone right now, we'd give all of our money.
Released from restriction, in hand it is grasped,
sly look right, and look left, did we hear a snigger?
Other than here, in this place, we're never so nervous,
we're certainly not small, more often we're bigger.
Feelings made worse by all those around us,
those waiting, and thinking that we're being slow.
The pressure enhances, within and without,
yet nothing happens, so my fears, they just grow.
As one stands alone, but surrounded by others,
the worst thing happens, and that thing, is nothing.
The pretense begins so fast of an instance,
a pointless shake and a thespians huffing.
Returning our tool back into it's hiding,
one frantically tries to suppress this feeling.
The next stage of the facade, is a quick needed wash,
now dried and re-pocketed we leave, but we're reeling.
We leave the grotesque, run down, porcelain chamber,
Embarrassed, still desperate, but what can one do?
Returning to where the same friends faces are waiting,
thankful for one, and that it's not two.
Re-seating is beautiful but beauty is brief,
a second just split, our needs were subsided.
With sip of cold nectar they come flooding back,
and now we are sat, and we are reminded.
There's no return to the tomb, not so soon,
same inquisitive faces will suspect my affliction.
Must perform, must pretend and not give away,
no signs can be shown of this horrible restriction.
Sat in our chair, needs, wants, pain overwhelming,
the evening continues with laughter and glee.
Public portrayal of fun, and not one of pain,
all the while thankful, our friends cannot see.
Now one must remain in utter control,
one slip, too relaxed and new trousers must bring.
Shameful and gutting it indeed would be,
so you see, stage fright is a terrible thing.
I enjoyed writing that, so hopefully you enjoyed reading it!
Special mention to Neil Mcintyre who was suffering from the condition at the time.
