As I choreograph myself
Into the heated haze
Characterizing these hidden days,
Tucked away backstage
Where the sun's spot
Can't follow dazed little me,
The shadows lurking in the wings line up,
Like names on a dance card.
In crisp tuxedos
With Perfect timing
And precise bow-ties,
Rearranging my bones,
As if I were a garment or accessory.
Moving me like I have no heartbeat
Impeccably overtaking my stride
Beneath the guise of 'leading'
But, these gliding shadows won't do,
This isn't ballroom.
The only grace I have is stillness.
Here, behind the scenery.
The trouble is,
Even the most adoring audience
Won’t be saving seats each evening,
For another empty stage.
And when every red velvet seat has cleared,
From the front row to the rear
Nosebleeds to standing room only;
That's when the curtains draw back.
And the flawless flower whispers open
for the spotlight alone.
Perfected beyond belief.
A painting, a masterpiece.
The kind of Breathtaking
that renders even the most vocal,
Yet without anyone to witness it.
It will be as if she never was.
That’s the drawback,
Time isn’t waiting.
You must exit the dressing room.
And Take stage
(Even Before you are ready.)
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.