Before the Music Begins

Tonight,
the audience waits.

I’m performing a happy for them.
Suspense thickens the salty air.
A big, toothy showgirl smile while my jaw clenches, and
My throat burns like fire and ice.
Stale popcorn crunches under my sequined heels.

I close my eyes to steady
My breathing,
My heartbeat,
My thoughts.

What you see and what I feel.
What I am, and what you want me to be.
I float above myself.
My feet touch the floor;
my head hits the beams on the ceiling.

My armpits, drenched in the smell of
“Am I good enough?”
The sweat dripping from my forehead answers:
drip Nope!
drip Nope!

Why are they looking at me?
Their anticipation is palpable.
I picked the pocket lint from my Xanax, and
open wide, and swallow whole.
Like they’re about to do to me, I think.

My nipples are pinching under perfectly positioned pasties.
My ivory boa tickles my nose into an almost-sneeze.

I square my shoulders, and

arch my back.

“Start the fucking movie!
Start the fucking movie!”

They ritually chant.

Dun,
dun, dun, dun…

That’s my cue.