I step to the mic
heartbeat rattling the silence-
I swear I knew who I was
but tonight
that feel like a ghost.

I've been marathon-running
through my to-do list,
chasing deadlines like they're lifelines,
huffing loud playlists
to smother the sting of old hate.

They call me grown-
said I left the sandbox years ago-
but my soul still rocks a childhood soundtrack,
laugh lines unetched
by time or truth.

Poetry wasn't in the job description-
I picked up words
like guilty pleasures-
now they spill out raw
and I'm too out of breath to stop.

I thought I pieced me together.
Every page, every rhyme-
a DIY map to my own heart.
But the more I write,
the more I realize-
I'm face-to-face
with a stranger's reflection.

Isn't that some cosmic joke?
Here I am-
living a life I auditioned for-
never quite scoring the lead.

So tonight I rage-
glue my fractures
into syllables of confession,
spitting truth in the echo-chamber
where I'm still learning
how to live as me.