The World is my Stage

I was always told to dress the part so

I put on my costume.

A white collared shirt,

 A skirt to my knees

 And a mask of a forced smile

Along with a face covered in pounds of makeup,

 Extra powder to detract from any sort of natural shine.

I stand on stage desperate to please the crowd.

All lights on me, slowly burning through my act.

Who was the twenty sixth president a judge screams

I tap dance around the question.

Why aren’t you thinner the audience calls out

I juggle socially acceptable answers

Quick decide what you want to do with the rest of your life immediately the director demands

Que lights, que camera, que existential crisis

Why do you deserve us to fund this disaster of a play the sponsor shouts

I read my scripted lines wrong.

The crowd whispers.

The stage goes dark.

CUT. END SCENE.

Why didn’t anyone teach me how to act?

 

 

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741