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?

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