I remember asking myself, why can't I put on an act like everyone else?
And then I remember two things, one - I am not everyone else and two - I can't put on an act,...when I am the act.
You see, I the circus act everyone came to see. I'm the comedian they all paid for.
In my family, I am known as the fighter, and everyday is a struggle.
I have to keep fighting to stay on the tightrope.
I have to keeping fighting to stay funny.
And the minute I slip up, I'm someone else's puppet. They...don't..want me.
'Cause you see, I was my mothers mistake.
She told me to wait till I get married when she did the opposite of she, what they, they being my gran's, told her, told me.
I'm putting on a show for two people, one that calls herself my mother and the other I despises.
'Cause he wants me dead but when I try to die, he wants me alive and I realize....he wants me to stuffer.
I came to realize why I'm fighting, why my gran's took death so early.
They weren't funny, they we're in the tightrope to begin with.
I understand why I'm so lonely.
He had no one on his journey and he thinks I must do the same.
While everyone else is calling him by something else I known him by one name.
I am the perfect explanation of a weapon of creation and destruction.
While I may look like an angle, I am all sin, my insides are all demon.
You see, I am not Raj but nor an I sweetie.
I am me and thats all I ever wanna be, but that's hard when your an act of someone else's expectations and dreams.
When one word as two definitions, but thousands of meanings.
When your body is walking out the door, while your heart is still here. , waiting for open arms.
You see, my heart grew a thousand times big but broke a hundred times worse.
As the act, I can't, I'm not allowed to cry.
Don't cry, they, they being everyone will see.
Don't cry, it will only mean your forever finished.
Don't cry, you'll be known as weak.
I can't be the act when I am the act and being the act is...challenging.
I don't have a voice, it doesn't matter.
They silenced me.
I can't say I'm hungry, cold, or tired,y voice doesn't matter.
They silenced me.
You have no words when you're the act.
So I best be on the tightrope.
I best be making them laugh.
I can't be the act, when I am the act.
They silenced me. This is my cry for help.
I use to know what freedom taste like, but that taste is bittersweet in my mouth.
It's like eating a big piece of chocolate all by yourself and after it was gone, still tasting the cream of it.
Slowly than fast the taste decrease as days go and went, but you still remember, cause every now and then you would get crumbs or leftover frosting from other people would was still eating chocolate cake.
I miss that taste, but I'm only the act and we the act, don't get that.
The taste of freedom is old, but new to me. It's hard and struggling. I am the act sadly.
They came and come to see me. Without my freedom.
Freedom that's been stolen from me.
I am the act, now only if my friends, the ones who say the care for me,
Now only if my family, the ones who say they love me,
Now only if they would actually watch me.