Curtain Call

An old poem written before my first High School Play, Arsenic and Old Lace. Though my style has changed and the structure is poor, the words still hold true today as I approach my last High School Musical, Legally Blonde. 

The shadows dance across the page as I write. The limited light falls from six circular globes; the room is deformed as one of the bulbs appears to have blown out. The occasional squeak or voice is muffled beyond the walls.

Nothing can separate the peace that is caused from sitting here. The floor is cracked and stained from old students and staff creating. Large black waves fall all around, their arms guarding me, protecting me, calming me. The smell of broken dreams mixes with the dust above. 

Nowhere else is beauty created from nothing. 

Nowhere else are individuals simultaneously inspired and convicted. 

One corner splashes the monotone walls with the nostalgia of the broken shoulders we stand on today. My voice is lost in the darkness, but remembered somewhere in the crevices above. 

Locked away are my paintbrushes. My tools that manifest the beauty within. The medium that spreads my joy to others and transfers my passion to empathy.

My memory may be forgotten, but my work impacts all those who have yet to come. The ground is stiff. Worn. Yet comfortable from familiarity.

The life we breath is under-appreciated. The foundation we have, we built for ourselves.

Here I create.

Here I exist.

Here I live on.