“Theatre is an ideological representation of images of social life…Theatre is an art and a weapon” (Boal, 225).
There are days I say words that I don’t mean
There are times where I’ve forced myself to make believe.
I can’t bring myself to express
For you to criticize what I call art
To you this passion of mine is just a waste of time
I take a deep breathe, pick up my pen and being to write
My art is my weapon
One that I will not use against you
Physically
But rather pretend that my mediums of expressions
Jab at you with the stroke of my pen
The dab of my paint brush
Burst the air out of you and leave you out on a whim
Here on these canvases I create my story of anger, pain and hate.
Using my art as my weapon to rid myself of the oppression inflicted on me
There are days I say words I don’t mean
“I’m sorry” “Yeah, I was wrong”
That’s all just make believe
And I’m sick and tired of pretending that we are all inferior to each other
When we are all human beings.
To you this passion of mine is a waste of time
But I tell my story, our story,
so you can no longer suppress us
So my people’s lives are remembered
My art is my weapon
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