Enter stage denial – 

I hide behind the curtains, 

their velvet cage 

protecting me  

against the distress 

that I am not extraordinary enough

for the principal cast 

and I am not ordinary enough

for the ensemble. 

Exit stage anger – 

I refuse to follow 

a choreography of complacency.

I'll storm through your stage door

and raise hell 

in character heels.

Enter stage bargaining – 

I show up  

at another audition 

after audition 

after audition, 

begging 

to be taken back.

“I’ll change, I swear I’ll change!” 

Exit stage depression – 

I ham up contentment 

for the cheap seats 

in the back, 

But beneath my stage makeup 

and bleach-white smile, 

I am numb. 

After ten years of acting out feelings,

I no longer know how to feel. 

Was I the lead actor  

in our downfall? 

The star of the shitshow? 

Did I cast myself as the victim 

when all I know 

is how to play the villain? 

Was there ever a chance for us 

when you never taught me how to say “no,”

only “yes, and?”

Were those moments  

of glistening glory 

under the spotlight 

worth it,

if their burn would linger for a lifetime,

scars singed into my skin, 

my being blemished 

beyond all recognition?

I have never been whole 

without a part to play.