Faux

I am sure with time, 

when all of the stagefright

is perfectly channeled into my role,

(perhaps i will only feel it when i become him)

then it will become easier. 

For now, I am sorting and catagorising,

and reorganising

and reorganising

and I can only speak when it is all in order. 

My mind wanders to the manufactured closeness, 

the fictional familial bond, replacing the feeling of speaking with a stranger, 

not just the person themselves, 

but the role they embody. 

I am taken back to The Great Architect, 

how he towered over me, 

the bond of a party, 

the shared table, 

the distance,

the sunset bathing you in a blue orange glow. 

I know enough about myself now to know that these butterflies are merely the result of method acting,

but my stomach twists when i think about how I percieve the word, Brother. 

I am taken back to under the blanket, 

in a car, or a tent, or a house, 

she was always “Lisa” 

and I was always “Jack” 

they were siblings. 

it is worth mentioning,

that “Lisa” was also the name of her mother. 

I had forgotten this aspect of it, until I found myself embodying my role, and my brother told me to stand near him. 

It feels, embarrassingly, like safety. 

It feels, worse, erotic. 

With time I know it will fade, 

but tomorrow is not time enough, 

I feel uneasy in my chest,

and a closeness in my throat.