Shakespeare got it right.

We’re all actors in a sense, aren’t we? Playing the role of a lifetime where everything is scripted accordingly to how you want others to perceive you; these characters we craft and rehearse over and over and over in our heads. Every block, every movement, every grand gesture, every single line, every entrance and every exit are well thought out and carefully laid out. This image that we quill with in hopes that the ink doesn’t spill over into the margins. A lie conveyed through the looking glass. A theatrical performance orchestrated into perfection to conceal what’s underneath the mask.

and you’re slowly diluting into a wallflower

Every so often, my mind does this little jig where ramblings of poetry scribble across my thoughts. And I’m mesmerised by the chaos in this solo. I’m never alone and I’m never lonely; two’s company and three’s a crowd.  There is something so profoundly beautiful in the rawness of honesty. Only if we could pen ourselves onto pages in shades of nude. Undressed. Unscripted. Improvised. An exquisite art. No fabrications. Transparent, not translucent. A journal we fill as we go along rather than dusting off an old book and reciting stories that have been told a hundred times over.

Because anybody can be a Juliet, but who will be you?