NEW POEM: Hanging Up My Heels

After much thought I decided to 'hang up my heels' and put my drag persona to one side. I am so proud of what we have done and so thankful to all the venues for giving me a platform. Here's a poem I wrote before my last night to explain to myself why I made the decision to move forward.

Hanging Up My Heels

A Poem by Simon Clark

I’ve grown to hate her, loathe her, detest her…even regret her; that’s how I apperceive,

My creation, my Adam and Eve,

Step back, take a look and undeceive,

I’ll look at what was conceived, was once believed and perhaps achieved,

Grieve.

Genesis

One drunken night in a local gay pub (begrimed, dark and oppressively suppressive but dappled and dotted with history and character-filled folks),

Locked-in and laughing at the ideas we spoke,

Two friends pulled together on a whim and a joke,

I’d be the girl; she’d be the bloke,

Two days later we stepped on the stage with no ego to stroke.

It worked for a while but paying for dresses and make-up isn’t cheap,

When you’re not paid and your pockets aren’t deep,

Inventing on a shoestring is hard to upkeep,

Into your joy the fatigue starts to creep,

Like resting your mind during paradoxical sleep.

The pub shut down,

The mask removed, said goodbye to the clown,

Tore down the tights and packed away the gowns,

No one else would have her, not in this town.

Journey Into The Wilderness

Got offered the chance to work in neighbouring towns (unknown faces, mysterious places with their hackles up and suspicion palpable to detect),

Treated like a virus about to infect,

I was the outsider they were poised to reject,

Tried to strike with the right effect,

Initially frightening, hard to breathe - looked inwards, introspect.

I had to dig deep and find the courage within to go out on tour,

One night stands to win over, to allure,

I had to make them feel safe to laugh, reassure,

Win on joke one and not lose them by four,

Want them to adore this sequin-clad-provocateur.

The game was tough,

The crowds could be cruel; the crowds could be rough,

Tricky to use some technique and some bluff,

Heels went back to the wardrobe; had enough.

Festivals

Now before anyone shouts I know there were good times (the dizzying display of mirror-ball lights, glittering shimmers of rainbows and unicorn flares),

Rows of revellers with their admiring stares,

The hen and stag parties where I was ‘charges d’affaires’,

The Toastmaster swiftly declares,

“Thanks for coming and working your shift – now leave down the backstairs”.

The birthday events that I presided over were always a ball,

Hearing the shout, the partygoers call,

The direct, puncturing humour bonding us all,

The older man with his back to the wall,

Drank far too much, balanced on stalks, and tried not to fall.

Weddings were joy,

Singing as two men were joined, boy and boy,

Getting it right, didn’t want to destroy

Their special day faced with the hoi polloi.

Trials

Those exultations were often marred with adversity (truly bad times, sombre sad times, times of fear, self-loathing and unparalleled desolation),

Spitting strangers; phlegm so I know my station,

Head held against a wall for spirit sedation,

Behaviour modification,

Halt the spread of art, self-expression…non-proliferation.

The cigarette stubbed out against my exposed midriff to burn the soul,

To diminish the heart; embed control,

Change my taste; acidifying the glycerol,

“Do as I say!” The Stasi on patrol,

Leave behind a broken Drag Queen, pieces of the whole.

Tiredness hits,

Drag all night then wake up for work in bits,

Segments of two jigsaws and nothing fits,

Everyone has a line - everyone quits.

There Will Be A Future

I’ve said goodbye to creations before (stripped off their wigs, burnt their glamorous clothing, obliterated their whole existence and their voice from my brain),

This time I feel sadness hit me like a train,

A breaking heart and spinning mental mind, insane,

Lost in sands, searching every grain,

Knowing I have stopped forever…won’t put on those heels again.

The sun may have set but yet it will rise. Shining light on life ahead,

No doubts on a stage swirling in my head,

I can dress and leave and watch the magic instead,

No shaved legs, no smudged make-up on my bed,

No wigs in Summer, no frozen Winter legs to dread.

Won’t hate myself,

At least not for the jewellery on my shelf,

No alter ego, no pixie, no elf,

Free to live my life, to be me, one self.

Resurrection?

I’m hanging up my heels again and people don’t believe me, (“you can’t bear to be out of the spotlight”, “you love stilettos and fishnet tights”, “you’ll be back”),

Hated what I became, that I couldn’t hack,

Can’t live from panic attack to panic attack,

Move on to a positive track,

It’s not like I’m sitting around, I’m not going to kickback.

It’s not all about the abuse or exhaustion but something inside,

I can’t just sit and watch my life, ringside,

Overwhelming feelings that cannot be denied,

Maintaining this façade…drag suicide,

The lashes hit the ground, now it’s time to look outside.

Never say no,

It‘s never right now but where’s this road go?

I need to find my peace and let me glow,

Heels are hanging up, lipstick just below.

I’ve grown to hate her, loathe her, detest her…even regret her; that’s how I apperceive,

My creation, my Adam and Eve,

Stepped back, took a look and undeceived,

I looked at what was conceived, was once believed and perhaps achieved,

Breathe.

© Simon Clak 2021