Here is a toast to the rebels and visionaries who know what it is like to be a performer.

Words projected out to humbled ears of the waiting crowd as I become my own poem, projected.

The container of my art transforms into a place where my heart can spring forth, ready to be vulnerable.

If all things are permissible in the name of the sacred or the stage, what happens after the curtains fall?

I struggle for my lines and cannot find the voice for improve over the roaring world called life.

A great bard once said that all the worlds a stage and so it must become true and clear.

The lights come up and I raise a toast to those brave enough to stand before the lights.

When the performance comes to an end, I will take my bow and thank you all.

For holding space.

For holding me.