My hands shake, from start to end of every line,
Seeing the truth bound into these words of mine.
I find myself on the brink of vulnerability—
The desire to be seen so as to feel one again.
Again, the curtains close
And the crowd has dispersed.
Take some steps forward, behind the red velvet sheets,
Look that bright poet in the eyes
Where no closed mind can pry
Hand a piece of my heart to him.
And watch him unfold—
Eyebrows raised, a softer gaze—
He has seen this all before
In his own story, his core.
I am not alone.
Recalls a time in class,
Some performance, laughed at.
That is where our threads meet.
An encouraging phrase:
“You should share this somewhere.”
And once more I see,
I can strip myself bare
Without the consequence of invalidation or mockery.
It’s not only me, it’s not only me,
It isn’t only me.
Rowan Regis, Year 12
