I have been a lot of different people, played a lot of roles

It would be stupid of me to differentiate the stage from life

For they are one and the same.

Shakespeare had it right in his seven ages

I do not act, I live, nor do I live, but act.

But even that was a simplification, a watered down melody for the simplest of heart to understand

That’s how it always has to be though, doesn’t it?

Satisfying the lowest common denominator

Leaving the stargazers craving more

Having eaten all they can of mortal food

They reach towards the skies

But alas! Soft fingertips only brush the underbellies of stars

Never getting a firm hold, never pulling one down to earth

So the hungry make themselves something more

More people, more lives, more tragedy, more joy, more sorrow and anguish and hatred and triumph and glory and true love’s kiss and oh how it burns–

Sometimes the brush slips as I paint on my new face

It’s ugly, the curve of the courtesan’s lip against the magistrate’s brow, the jester’s hooked nose

I grimace and lean closer, striving for perfection in the disguise

Then I realize it was never a brush that slipped

But my very own hand, wiping away the pancake makeup

Revealing the skin underneath

Pale and scarred as moonlight

Freckled through with stars

I see the girl in the mirror

I do not know her yet

I haven’t let myself become familiar with such a mundane creature

She is a role I’ve never been brave enough to play.

I clean my face, dissolve seventeen years of solicitude

And say hello to the girl-child who is eager to meet me.

I have been a lot of different people, played a lot of roles,

And it would be stupid of me to regret it

Each mask let me learn something new and let me learn unabashedly

Without the anxiety of self

But now I am turning to tell other people’s stories, content with what has been in mine

Days are long and people are cruel

I have and will lose and hurt but

I will learn from all

And if nothing else, at least I will be my own.