All the world is a stage

And when you were born

They arranged it for you

Set the props just right, and gave you

The perfect little costumes

And settled you into the cozy scenery.

As you grew, you explored

This world that was set out for you

This stage you were placed on

Playing with the props,

Begging to see more scenery,

Rifling through the costumes.

And maybe they said yes.

Maybe, when you were old enough,

They let you peek backstage,

At what made it all possible.

You grew bigger, and suddenly you were grown.

You realized this stage is yours.

You snuck backstage and tugged at the ropes

Learned how to open the curtain

So all could see you

You found the script they wrote

And took it

For it was only half full.

You scribbled your next scenes, gripping the pen with wild, greedy hands

Adding new experiences, new stories

And if you didn’t like something,

You scratched it out with bold, messy strokes

Until it looked okay again

And ink stains covered your fingers.

You broke into the paint

And found a canvas

And you painted your own scenery

Staining the neat wood floor of the stage

That is yours.

And now you stand on your stage

Old, but happy

Still fingering the paint and ink stains

The new costumes you threw together

The props strewn across the floor.

And as you close your curtain for the last time

You smile

Just before you signal the lights

To go out for the last time.

Aren’t you glad, sweetheart,

That they let you see the back of the stage

All those years ago

Instead of hiding it away from you?