The Dancer

You are an unidentifiable figure,
Flitting and twirling across the stage,
Lingering before the boundary of light and shadow,
Grinning as you watch those illuminated stumble.

The audience watches as you spin out past the curtain,
Oblivious to your secret life backstage.
Unable to hear the slander you whisper to your peers,
Engrossed only by the dancer onstage who trips.

The dancer flees the stage after her brief spell before the crowd,
Biting her fist to hold back her tears,
Having lost an opportunity to redeem herself,
Distracted by the escalating scandal among her company.  

The dancer composes herself,
Ignoring the malicious glances cast toward her,
Pretending to be deaf to the hushed snickers,
Striding past in search of reconciliation.

The dancer finds you in the darkness,
Enveloped in the embrace of an unknown man,
Breathing promises of forever in his ear,
Charming him with your sweet smile and delicate touch.

The audience observes the dancer's elegant reentrance,
Noticing her suddenly impassioned step,
Scrutinizing her swift and graceful leaps and turns,
Unable to deny the authentically true spirit she possesses.

The dancer identifies her love in the audience,
Fervently wishing for his return of affection,
Perturbed by the discovery of your unfaithfulness to him,
Afflicted by the truth she knows and the lies you've told.

You watch the dancer from behind the curtain.
You stand as a solitary critic in your shadows.
You glare at the dancer as she finishes, poses, bows.
You listen as the crowd applauds and stands.
You see the dancers across the stage beaming and clapping.
You deny what you know you are:
A fraud.