They are clicking for him,
They are clapping for her,
And I am just sitting in the audience.
I wish that I could get up on stage,
Shine in the spotlight,
Share my thoughts,
But I ain’t strong,
Once my home,
Is now often a place that I run from.
It’s not that I have nothing to say,
I just feel past it,
And so I sit watching,
Rotting with decay.
A waste of talent some might say.
If you asked me twenty years ago,
I never thought that I would end up this way.
I have been the only cast member in a one woman show,
Performed in front of thousands you know,
But my material these days,
It’s not a show,
It’s real life,
I have no shame in sharing my woes,
I want people to connect with me,
To inform people about how mental illness grows,
Where it can come from,
Where it often goes,
But there is a frog in my throat,
A cats got my tongue,
My heart is beating fast,
I am dripping in sweat,
What if I belch,
Or projectile vomit when I open my mouth?
That’s just the upper part of my body,
It will be loud gas from down there,
Not the ideal triple threat,
Not dancing in the way that you would hope and expect,
Belly dancing in the bowel region is not a talent that I know of yet.
With all of this anxiety,
I cannot concentrate,
Let alone recite and perform,
But the writer in me has been born,
And my insecurities have not stopped that,
And so if you like what you read,
Please keep coming back,
And share my details with a friend,
How about that!?