Floodlit Paper Tigers
Night lifts a glare of stadium white that varnishes cardboard armor with artificial blaze, applause cracks open the rafters while my pulse miscounts each praise,
Beneath that riot of cheers my jaw tightens around a question mark, equal parts envy and haze, since I know the stitching inside this costume frays,
Spotlights lick the lacquered floor then catch my grin, conjuring confidence carved from wax that drips as soon as the bulbs raise,
I hear the thunder of approval rolling across the seats, yet inside a smaller voice accuses me of larceny, stealing worth my bones never appraise,
Compliments land like silver arrows, bright yet blunt, they bruise not pierce, collecting in pockets already stuffed with disclaimers my mind arrays,
I bow on cue though shoulders tremble, fearing the tremor will tip the mask and loose the frantic animal lurking in the passageways,
Every handshake feels forensic, fingers reading fingerprints that might expose the forgery cast in yesterday’s clay,
Every smile I return resembles currency I forged at night, printed with phantom watermark that dissolves when morning rays survey.
Echo of childhood stirs, a chalkboard memory where teacher wrote my name beneath gold stars yet I hid behind the desk convinced those stars belonged to someone braver who fled,
Now grown, awards collect dust on a shelf I pass with sideways glance, letters engraved on brass plates spelling accolades I still downplay,
I rehearse humility in bathroom mirrors, reciting lines that downsize triumphs into accidents of luck, a ritual that salts each bright bouquet,
To outsiders the routine looks courteous, the mirror knows the drill: shrink the win, sharpen the doubt, polish the fear till reflections decay,
Late tattoos of insomnia ink the ceiling while I count potential fractures in every compliment replay,
Imagining auditors ripping seams, exposing newspaper stuffing that props my fragile display,
I fantasize about exile where nobody knows my name, where silence will neither worship nor betray,
Yet ambition drags the spotlight cord through my ribs, demanding another entrance, another day.
So I strap the cardboard tighter, paint fresh stripes upon the trembling prey,
Walk into the brilliance, flinch, then roar in practiced metered sway,
Crowd erupts once more, believing the paper roar is tiger-made,
While inside I fold like origami, crisp lines hiding tears in layers no gaze can flay,
Applause fades, house lights dim, confetti drifts like falling ash that cannot stay,
Alone backstage I peel the cardboard, breathe relief and dismay,
Stack the costume on its hanger, whisper please don’t crumble, please obey,
Knowing tomorrow the floodlight will bark my name again, and I will answer anyway.