She is cold.
Like marble.
A statue.
Playing
at being
human.

She doesn’t understand her audience.
Their desires.
So she dances —
wearing masks
of comedy
and tragedy.

Lashing out
at the hands
that reach for her.
Even though
she craves
their touch.

She’s never really trusted
Fingers not to hurt.
A tongue not to tear.
Words not to twist.

So she hides.
Behind the violence.
Behind the performance.

Maybe that makes her
the villain
of the story.

But you–
you built the theater.