The world's a stage. This is mine.

They say I’m confident,

I tell them the world’s a stage.

They say I’m too confident,

I tell them, well don’t worry. The world is a stage.

Courtesy of Shakespearean words.

That’s right.

See there’s a way I strut,

A way I glance,

A way I raise my eyebrows,

Dismissive but drawn.

There’s even a way I nod.

The way I wink,

The way I stare.

The way I’m open, but reserved.

The way I’m carefree but calculated.

The way I remember every detail of you.

What you wore, what you said, who you presented yourself to be.

My choice of words. The way I compliment. The tone, my eyes.

It’s cool,

It’s sexy,

It’s childish,

It’s mocking,

It’s tempting,

It’s dominance, a lot of it. But a lingering, prowling one-

In such a way it becomes sweet and charming.

Above all, it’s intentional,

An art. A skill.

Like a ballet dancer to their en pointe.

I’m committed to the craft.

The character; a persona. An alter ego evoked so deeply it projects as pure nature.

Confidence is a construct.

A mode.

Admire the artistry,

Give me a round of applause.

The world is a stage!

This is mine and you’re my audience.

Fill my ego. Clap. A standing ovation.

For it’s all a performance.

I say there’s nothing like true confidence in itself.

Only imitation.

Some look to God, others to the rest.

I say this with chest.

I’m not really confident.

Just a really good actress.

Like any other confident person you know.

Deemed much better than I actually am unsurprisingly,

As we live in a world that fails to look beyond the theatrics.

Enjoy my performance,

Till it’s insufferable. Till it mocks your values. The reality, truth.

Only then must you walk out of my theatre.

Proudly.

Until then, remember that the world is simply a stage.

And this is mine.