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National Theatre

we are trying to find ourselves in a backstage hallway. yes, i know it’s getting late, but we never quite grew into the skin we were born in. we can’t help but make mistakes; it’s what we do. but here it is, the new show by the national theatre, and here we are the freaks whose lives just scream disaster. and it’s all so moving and they look so much like us that who are we to argue? when the national theatre tells you that it loves your story you’re expected to feel thrilled. it’s what they do. they will make you as tall as a building or as bright as a fireworks display but somehow in this riot of colour all grey areas get washed away, and i won’t be their god damn freak show to be pelted with fruit from the stalls, so i hope that they feel entertained while i slip out the back door. we are better off here in our heads with no audience watching the bed. why’s it strange not to want a display and to love you anyway? but here it is, the new show by the national theatre, and here we are the freaks whose lives just scream disaster. and it’s all so moving and they look so much like us. but i never could act, i never could perform, and i prefer you off stage, so close the curtains, sit next to me and promise you’ll never leave.

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