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hamlet: act 3, scene 1

Don’t you wish I could have been

the namesake of his masterpiece:

the memory of a goddess roaming your heart,

a muse still alive in the pages of a play.

Dear reader, if you can hear me,

I wish you knew how much

my pain persists. Watch them run,

round and around, with the games they play

for reasons unfounded. Can’t help but wonder

if there’s something missing.

They know you see their hearts beating,

yet have the guts to lie still and play

dead. Here’s to another horror movie

disguised as an episode of romantic comedy:

with a script we know word-for-word on repeat,

we perform the same motions on replay.

Raise a glass. Here’s to all of us

rewriting our epilogues, defying all fiction,

never second-guessing our significance.

Next time, take my advice and play

the fool. Never thought you could be an actress,

but between you and me,

perhaps some part of you, too, exists

within the pages of a play.