Discover more from KP Writes by Kevin Pocock
I used to dream of Hollywood and accolades I’d win
My acting and comedic voice was silenced by the din,
Of adults saying this and that, and science and of maths.
That quashed the dreaming talents for more sensible, sure, paths.
I day dreamed of a sporting life, and trophies I may hoist.
Intuitive play is tricky with a “must-win mental choice”.
Of “break his legs”, “we’re here to win”, subbed on for just two minutes.
‘Clubman award’, how could I thrive, when shouting made me grimace?
At least my written voice persists. And through it I can reason.
That though it’s been a while since my last hopeful football season,
and though I now may never help a film or series flourish,
my brain, my thoughts, my reading mind, is still allowed to nourish.
“They fuck you up”, so Philip said...
But some do do their best.
They fight your corner, try to help, allow you time to rest.
But when a child feels beaten down, then teen, and 20s, 30s.
It takes a time to reconcile the world that child was hurt in.
Adult should look back renewed, to see the ones behind them.
Call out, encourage, loose those traps. For they now know what binds them.