The Players

Shakespeare once said that all the world’s a stage,
and we are merely the players.
The performance of a lifetime,
glossy scripts, little coffee tables, and dentists offices.
Lovely Ophelia and sweet Juliet becon us forward,
Inviting us into the floodlights.
Why do girls always die in Shakespeare?
Our very own globe theatre, a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.
We try our best to drown out the screams with soliloquy, bitches die every day.
We are in close quarters.
Grease paint and khol can’t hide everything.
Suddenly I am not in fair Verona, I am in front of you.
You can see the shadows of my eyes.
There are no violets here, just hollow skin.
You can see the scar on my cheek, the chip on my front tooth,
You lose interest.
Shakespeare wrote of humanity,
So why are we so disgusted by humans?