Every night feels like opening night and I am the leading role,
‘Tonight, I’ll be doing a convincing portrayal of an extrovert (again)’.
I became a method actor, wearing the title like a badge of honour,
attempting to coax a new personality into my life to use as my own.
I can’t stay in character anymore.
I’ve worn the costume every day hoping it would become my second skin;
twenty-three years in and it isn’t working.
I am slowly realising that maybe it isn’t my colour,
tones of people could sell the performance but I am out of stock.
I can’t do it justice anymore – every night I dread putting it on,
tired of convincing other people that I love it,
spinning them lie after lie, stitches that keep these pieces together.
I’m starting to hope my costume falls apart, actively looking for frays,
stitches I can pull apart, shredding the illusion I created for the public.
As it falls away I have visions of my new costume,
one lighter on my frame, more fitted to the figure I’ve grown to be:
the introvert, a new supporting character!
I won’t always steal the show but I don’t want that anymore,
people might not think I’m the leading role but I’ll still be mine.
-A.Webb (second draft)