They pull the strings again.

I smile because the lights are watching.

My hands remember the steps

even when my mind wants to flee.

The makeup hides the bruises,

not from fists—

from the weight of pretending.

Every laugh from the crowd

is a chain.

They clap too loud.

Too long.

They love the show,

but they never ask if I chose the stage.

My throat is raw.

Not from singing,

but from swallowing the scream

that always sits behind my teeth.

When the curtain falls,

they think I disappear.

But I stay.

Frozen in the spotlight

long after the audience forgets my name.

I bow because I have to.

I stand because they say so.

I perform because I was built for this.

But inside, something rots

quietly, beautifully,

offstage.