Puppet

I have let the fear of the unknown rule me.

The fear of success and failure holding my arms like strings.

I allow fate to swing my broken marionette.

The stage is set, the curtains are drawn, and the light in my eyes is blinding.

I dance until I sweat, my feet are bloodied, my heart is pounding, yet I feel numb.

All of the exhaustion, temporary excitement, the show forcing me to go on.

Relief is not what I feel when the curtain closes.

When the darkness swells and swallows me up.

Exhaustion, after I pantomime myself, a version of me almost entirely created.

Then I see it, a soft glow that feels better than a warm round of applause.

Like a crepuscular ray sent to me from God.

In this warm comforting embrace, the light I yearn to have touch my face, I stagger.

As my wounds slowly heal from the stage and blinding lights I feel fear.

What if the clouds close up and take my solace with them?

What is it that makes me feel so unworthy of this warmth, of this love that I feel?

I want to keep it and hold on to what I think to be real.

I need this ray in my life—

a quiet comfort, simple, yet profound.

This subtle, sacred luxury

is where I’m safe and sound.