Rehearsal

It's not about the stage.

Rising in the hum of rehearsing lines

Terrified breathing tears my throat

Not for the stage, but the exit

To a plywood prison, your sin my cellmate

Defenseless, against it I will be pressed-

 

I pull on virgin white ballet tights

                        You watch me.

 

Retired is the comfortable cover of voices

My caked stage make-up face, interrupted 

cracked with shock.

Exposed like the woodwork of an empty set

Revulsion quivers in my throat

Climbs in my limbs, convulses 

My violated bones sob with loss-                        

 

I re-enter the play

        Your eyes follow me.

Reviews

[Clockwork]

I saw this potentially as a loss of virginity. The description of the make up, and the presence of the "Virgin white" ballet tights seems to subtly point in that direction. Either way it is a nice metaphor. Hopefully I found the point.

[Thoughts]

nice job..... I liked the way u wrote the poem......