Just A Show

I’ll admit it willingly,
sometimes I put on a show.
I primp and perfect the
reflection in the mirror,
until what I see looking back at me
is exactly what I want it to be.
And I dress myself to the T,
pick the perfect shoes to
complete my stride with pride.
Then I push my shoulders back
with confidence,
blink away the fear
and walk.

But I don’t just walk,
I dance.

My hips sway side to side
as you pretend not to see me,
keeping your eyes focused forward;
just like me.
And you silently judge,
but the words you’re whispering,
or thinking to yourself
are drowned out by the ever-flowing
stream of conscious thought
running through my body faster
than the blood in my veins.

I tell myself you’re jealous,
that you are weak;
weaker than I--
I tell myself that you’re the shy one,
walking like a dog
with your tail between your legs.

And it may be just a show,
the world has become my stage;
but even actors start to emanate
their characters after
holding them close for too long.