Jester

I ascend to the stage, I make sure not to stumble or trip. They cheer and they boast and they cackle. They like this new persona. A beautifully doctored facade. Would they like the girl behind the curtains? They like my makeup and the pigment of my lipstick Would they like my natural face? Their teeth blind me As i juggle my sanity Ensuring that the tears that drip From those tortured balls later on Do not waterboard the floor Their laughs distract me As i contort my scar ridden limbs Into the position of their desires Ensuring that i do not break my weak bones Who am I when the show ends? Who am I when I take off my makeup? Who am I when I am not performing? The ringmaster wears darkness as a disguise He watches my every contortion, Judging my every breath. If i drop a ball, if i break a bone - He will punish me. He has seen me behind the curtains He has seen my face. He is meant to love me. But - he knows what they want. I descend the stage I stumble and i trip and i fall on my face They cheer and they boast and they cackle Do those fools think it is another persona? Or is this my repugnant bona fide image?