I am empty
I am nothing
I am no more than the millions of stories I have told myself

My outside is lovely
My insides are bare
There is no one home
My body is full of books and music and pretty things

My soul is a house
With walls papered
With stolen words
The plagiarism of geniuses

My life is a play
I am the star
Play-acting through scene after scene
Pretending

Pretending to be happy
Pretending to be clever
Pretending to be beautiful
Pretending to like boys

I execute the scene without flaw
There is no applause
No curtain calls
No bouquets of roses blushing too deeply

The scenes continue
The play is infinite