Held aloft by spotlights and musical instruments
I languidly attempt to break through ambivalence
My delicate soprano echoes in tones morose
And I silently debate my ability to engross
What is sock and buskin or fair countenance of mine?
Verses, reveries and soliloquies intertwine
Though some in the peanut gallery rise to cast a stone
It is merely a reminder that the stage is my own
– love, mia –