The Crowded Stage

Behind the curtain,

emotions lie in wait

to take the stage.

In no certain order:

hurt, happiness,

some sort of longing—

while the spotlight

is on rage.

Each one steps forward

to perform and take its bow—

before the crowd of thoughts

that I’m supposed to manage

somehow.

So I compartmentalize.

I build rooms,

I close all the doors.

Rooms without ceilings,

rooms without floors.

Backstage, fear lingers

beneath love,

and happiness

is wrapped in guilt.

The crowd keeps asking

what comes next.

I stand behind the curtain,

trying to find my cue—

as if I wrote the script,

as if I knew.