A cold read should not be that hard,
I think to myself for the umpteenth time.
All you have to do is read the words.
I can't comprehend the difficulty.
But, I remind myself, they’re not all actors.
They don’t read text like you do.
Still, I argue, all in my mind,
They’ve been reading for as long as you have.
The voice will pause as they think this over.
Yet, it tells me finally, gently but firmly,
You get the better English grades,
It just comes more naturally to you.
“That’s true,” I murmur, mistakenly out loud,
But what makes me so different?
Maybe, whispers my mind,
You’re not as good as you think you are.
I dismiss the thought immediately.
No really, it persists, you’re not as good –
You’re never as good as you think you are.
Silence.
I guess you’re right, the part of me mumbles
The one so frustrated before,
While the other half smiles in satisfaction.
But even so, I interject –
(I’m losing track of who is who
they both echo so clearly and
they sound so alike)
I know my words flow better than they do.
The voice concedes to that.
For all your mistakes you’ll never fix,
Your words flow better than theirs.
A cold read isn’t that difficult, I mumble, just in my mind.
My thoughts answer: Yours flow better than theirs.