Sometimes I sit in my room
On my bed
And I cry.
I cry for the longing,
For the wanting,
For the need to be on stage.

I want to do so many things.
I want to perform,
I want to be able to belt those notes,
I want to show the world what I have,
I want to march up to everyone that told me I couldn’t and say
“I did it.”

I want to prove them all wrong,
I want to surprise everyone.
They’ll say,
“How did this random southern lady get here?”
And then they’ll hear me sing,
They’ll watch me act,
They’ll see me dance,
And then they’ll say,
“This is where this random southern lady belongs,
On stage with the best of the best.”

I will get there, on that stage.
But until then,
I will keep wanting,
And longing.
I will cry
As I sit on my bed,
In my room.