I stand with trembling hands
in front of a crowd of pseudo fans.
My mouth is dry—cracked from
holding the desert under my tongue.
I am afraid of being the jester in a table of Kings.
I wish I could disappear from the face of the earth,
away from the prying eyes of those who believe that
they know every single cell that makes up my being.
I stand trying to inhale, but my lungs are damaged
from years of breathing their derogatory fumes.
They will never realize how much their ridicule
affects my emotional and physical wellbeing.
I am afraid to reach beyond the painted image.
To extend my hand towards the stretched canvas
and pull out the person confined within the portrait.
I stand with a beating chest
full of melancholy and self-doubt.
But I will not let my heart become
the marionette of my fears.
I am afraid of the world because
I have seen its shadows.
Yet, I know that the darkness
only exists to emphasize the light.
I stand trying to speak to an
audience that is deaf to my voice.
But I will not let that discourage me
from shouting at them the truth.
I am afraid because I am human.
I know that my time is just another
second within the phase of the clock.
Yet, I will not give up.
I will keep shouting and searching
until the day that the jester is crowned.