Am I Playing a Good Me?

This is not a debut. I have always been here
On a stage not withstanding direction or theme.
Have I loved enough yet?  Have I risen from fall?
Can I slip in a song before last curtain call?
This half-life, as I live it, seems more like a dream
Of a drama composed by the likes of Shakespeare.

I’m a poet myself – or, I play one, somewhat.
It’s the best way I’ve found to relate to the world,
But before we mince words, we are actors at heart.
How one acts towards another’s a show from the start.
I’m a beacon of light, once my talent’s unfurled,
And through boos and applause, I maneuver my strut.

I can’t tell you I’ve been here and done that before.
It is not all that accurate and lacks some taste.
What I say does flow through me – sometimes by the thought,
Yet mostly by sheer happenstance. Then should I ought
To thank the script reaper who sits commonplaced
In an audience vibrant and asking for more?

Having this time around, I am better than last
As I deal with the candlesticks notched in my belt
And with all of the stage props. Some are clearly misplaced.
My lines must have some presence before they’re embraced.
This theatrical setting is one to be felt
As my focus on this day will soon become past.  

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