I used comedy as a defense for most of my adult years,
deployed it as a shield between the feelings and the fears,
made a joke before the moment could become too real,
and kept the comedy between me and what I’d have to feel.
Comedy is not a defense, as I eventually learned,
when the defense kept working and the actual thing still burned,
when the joke was perfect but the wound was still wide open,
and the laughter was the thing that kept me from the token.
Comedy is not a defense, it is the thing itself,
comedy is not a defense, it belongs on the shelf,
of things worth doing for their own specific sake,
not as protection from the thing you’re afraid to take.
The comedian who uses comedy to keep the world at bay,
is the comedian who never has a fully honest day,
and the audience can tell the difference between the real,
and the joke that’s a wall between the comedian and the feel.
I stopped using comedy as armor around thirty-five,
let some things be actually terrible and still arrive,
and the comedy improved dramatically when I allowed,
the actual feeling to be present and out loud.