In the corner, I sit, backstage,

small and scared of the world around me.

I don't want to move, for fear that

I will go far, far away and

never come back.

 

I want no one to look at me

because I feel in danger of

hateful gazes and wicked glares.

I just want to hide and stay safe,

stay where it's warm.

 

On the stage, I stand a woman,

the same girl, only dressed in costume

and putting on a show.

I grin devilishly and look at

every single member of the audience,

even though inside, I'm being torn apart

with scopophobia--fear of their eyes,

of their judgement, their hatred.

 

I play with fire, dare it to

brush my skin and burn me,

to turn my skin to ashes,

and I pretend I'm not worried.

 

I scream and yell to the crowd

things I don't mean, because if

I said what I really thought,

it couldn't be anymore

than a whisper.