A spotlight in my head
consumes my thoughts, my dreams;
It follows me, fills me with a sense
of my own self loathing.
I can see how it would be
star struck and sparkling and noisy
like that first applause, resonating
before the curtain closes.
I can feel that I want it
and constantly try
to hide it, but keep clinging, somehow;
because it is a far away dream,
impossible dream,
pointless dream.
For I've not the tools
nor the talents
to take on a tactless life
of sparkle,
glamour,
attention.
A spotlight in my head -
never fades, still bright -
blinds me with its passion
which I know reflects my own.
It's not quite forbidden;
only by myself,
my clumsy scrawl across a page
does not live up to
its own high standards.
As bright is the spotlight
is as dim as I.
How may one so dull
be illuminated is splendour?
In beauty?
I torment myself with fantasy.
I am sick, worthless.
A spotlight in my head
makes it pound,
makes me suffer.
But I will never let it go out.
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