In the darkest corner of the room I feel my hair gently swept aside. Soft kisses trek along my neck and end in a long, protracted sigh.
“The spotlight is not for lovers,” I whisper in return. No more words are needed for lips have greeted, and in knowingness we are deeded a small happiness for all the lonesome times we’ve endured.
Reflexive Verb
Her cold pale skin shone bright in the darkness as the spotlight found it’s way down the alley. She jumped back into the shadows, her eyes glancing at the bloody, lifeless body that lay before her. Would they see? Wiping the blood from her lips, she wondered if her mistake would cost her everything
Cat
There she stood, all her imperfections shining for the world to see. Her mistakes, her regrets, her doubts on trial… the world was her stage and yet she stood blinded in the spotlight
Cat
Spotlight. I’m standing alone on stage, freaking out. I can hear the crowd moving. They are getting bored. I take a deep breath and start to sing. My voice rings out pure and sweet, and the crowd roars. In what feels like seconds, I’m done. I’m sweating and I’m shaking so hard I can barely walk. My mum is waiting for me at the edge of the stage. She’s crying, and I hear her say that she’s so, so proud.
ML
Spotlight. I’m standing alone on stage, freaking out. I can hear the crowd moving. They are getting bored. I take a deep breath and start to sing. My voice rings out pure and sweet, and the crowd roars. In what feels like seconds, I’m done. I’m sweating and I’m shaking so hard I can barely walk.
The idea is tempting at first; an exhilarating rush that offers redemption from every embarrassing moment locked away in schoolyard memories. Then regrets from lessons of embarrassment from the same era seems to overwhelm all senses, and sweat forms droplets of pure fright–even your pores know this is not what you want. It’s not about accepting adoration and accolades, but rather about flaunting flaws that everyone is sure to see immediately. I’m moist. Everywhere. It’s the light, and it’s centered on me. I can’t even see people, but I can hear their disappointment. My voice, shaking, begins with: “ladies and gentlemen…”
My mind says “why did you accept doing this. your voice is small. no one can here you.”
“Thank you for coming here today to show us your support. It has meant so much to us for the past year.”
why am I even here. I didn’t even want to be here today. I hate this.
Diana
“Spotlight”
To know that even when you are all alone, you are not alone. That block of light in the window has eyes. Empty streets are iluminated with invisible stares. And, always, the stars are watching from the Gondola seat of the nearest moon beam.
I’ve had the spotlight before, but I don’t want it now. I always wanted to be a poet and a thinker and am now in a position where i can do just that anymore.
Dan Nieman
A dangerous scary place where it all hits the fan, for the better, or worse. An intimidating spot. Writing about what matters. Strength and tenacity and the inability to give up. Ferocity and a sense of inner conviction in your soul. Understanding.
Lula
Spotlight + Bat Symbol + Crime = ……..NaNaNaNaNaNaNaNaNaNaNa BATMAN!
I never wanted the spotlight. First of all, it’s too hot. Standing there, in the dark, except for what feels like all the heat and light in the world focused on your face. You become certain that everyone can see each individual drop of sweat on your brow. You can, can’t you?
Her hands trembled in fear and anxiety and her legs felt like jello as she took some pretty sharps breaths , trying to calm herself down.
And then she walked on the stage , the bright lights caressing her pale skin and the whistles of her adored friends making her chuckle a bit . The spotlight was all on her.
margot
Glaring brilliance flashed through the darkness, a hazy beam splashing yellow on the back drop of gathering storm clouds.
Kevin
I suppose a lone figure
Would be better played
to the crowd
in the harsh
light
on the wide stage
with curtains up
the show is on.
Lynn
Sometimes, it’s best to look in places other than where the spotlight is. While everyone else is looking at what is being shown, you could be searching for something with real meaning and truth. Look further than what is easily right in front of you.
okayfine
I was never at the spotlight. I never liked it, I like being at the background where it is peaceful and silent. I like silence… I like being alone. I like the solitude of being alone with my person and my own mind. Sometimes I get lonely too, but I think that is better than being lonely with someone.
Louiese
Do I have to go there? I know they will shine and buff me, straighten me up, before pushing me out, and I will be in the spotlight, waiting for hell-knows-what from the unknown, unseen folks out there in the stalls who have paid to see me fall on my face.
i sit pondering the pictures
of pontificating perfection
spotlight shines on the shinola
worthless or worthy;
all how you sell yourself
why not
misbegotten forgotten forgetful
turn off the light
the silence is blinding
Matt m.
Awkward in a spotlight on her front porch. The jasmine-scented smoke from your pipe hanging over us. One at a time, we passed through two front doors, beveled glass. You let me walk ahead of you. You treat me different, but you don’t treat me like her. You throw tangerine peels at her. You know that I know.
Ella Emma Em
Here’s her chance to steal the spotlight – here’s her chance to steal the show. Dance and sing and rock the world and wow the audience in one go. Feel the heat against her back. Smell the sweat – she’s all aglow. She desires to awe and inspire and hopes that you’ll toss her a rose.
In the darkest corner of the room I feel my hair gently swept aside. Soft kisses trek along my neck and end in a long, protracted sigh.
“The spotlight is not for lovers,” I whisper in return. No more words are needed for lips have greeted, and in knowingness we are deeded a small happiness for all the lonesome times we’ve endured.
Her cold pale skin shone bright in the darkness as the spotlight found it’s way down the alley. She jumped back into the shadows, her eyes glancing at the bloody, lifeless body that lay before her. Would they see? Wiping the blood from her lips, she wondered if her mistake would cost her everything
There she stood, all her imperfections shining for the world to see. Her mistakes, her regrets, her doubts on trial… the world was her stage and yet she stood blinded in the spotlight
Spotlight. I’m standing alone on stage, freaking out. I can hear the crowd moving. They are getting bored. I take a deep breath and start to sing. My voice rings out pure and sweet, and the crowd roars. In what feels like seconds, I’m done. I’m sweating and I’m shaking so hard I can barely walk. My mum is waiting for me at the edge of the stage. She’s crying, and I hear her say that she’s so, so proud.
Spotlight. I’m standing alone on stage, freaking out. I can hear the crowd moving. They are getting bored. I take a deep breath and start to sing. My voice rings out pure and sweet, and the crowd roars. In what feels like seconds, I’m done. I’m sweating and I’m shaking so hard I can barely walk.
inclusive or isolating?
holofote
The idea is tempting at first; an exhilarating rush that offers redemption from every embarrassing moment locked away in schoolyard memories. Then regrets from lessons of embarrassment from the same era seems to overwhelm all senses, and sweat forms droplets of pure fright–even your pores know this is not what you want. It’s not about accepting adoration and accolades, but rather about flaunting flaws that everyone is sure to see immediately. I’m moist. Everywhere. It’s the light, and it’s centered on me. I can’t even see people, but I can hear their disappointment. My voice, shaking, begins with: “ladies and gentlemen…”
My mind says “why did you accept doing this. your voice is small. no one can here you.”
“Thank you for coming here today to show us your support. It has meant so much to us for the past year.”
why am I even here. I didn’t even want to be here today. I hate this.
“Spotlight”
To know that even when you are all alone, you are not alone. That block of light in the window has eyes. Empty streets are iluminated with invisible stares. And, always, the stars are watching from the Gondola seat of the nearest moon beam.
I’ve had the spotlight before, but I don’t want it now. I always wanted to be a poet and a thinker and am now in a position where i can do just that anymore.
A dangerous scary place where it all hits the fan, for the better, or worse. An intimidating spot. Writing about what matters. Strength and tenacity and the inability to give up. Ferocity and a sense of inner conviction in your soul. Understanding.
Spotlight + Bat Symbol + Crime = ……..NaNaNaNaNaNaNaNaNaNaNa BATMAN!
I never wanted the spotlight. First of all, it’s too hot. Standing there, in the dark, except for what feels like all the heat and light in the world focused on your face. You become certain that everyone can see each individual drop of sweat on your brow. You can, can’t you?
Her hands trembled in fear and anxiety and her legs felt like jello as she took some pretty sharps breaths , trying to calm herself down.
And then she walked on the stage , the bright lights caressing her pale skin and the whistles of her adored friends making her chuckle a bit . The spotlight was all on her.
Glaring brilliance flashed through the darkness, a hazy beam splashing yellow on the back drop of gathering storm clouds.
I suppose a lone figure
Would be better played
to the crowd
in the harsh
light
on the wide stage
with curtains up
the show is on.
Sometimes, it’s best to look in places other than where the spotlight is. While everyone else is looking at what is being shown, you could be searching for something with real meaning and truth. Look further than what is easily right in front of you.
I was never at the spotlight. I never liked it, I like being at the background where it is peaceful and silent. I like silence… I like being alone. I like the solitude of being alone with my person and my own mind. Sometimes I get lonely too, but I think that is better than being lonely with someone.
Do I have to go there? I know they will shine and buff me, straighten me up, before pushing me out, and I will be in the spotlight, waiting for hell-knows-what from the unknown, unseen folks out there in the stalls who have paid to see me fall on my face.
i sit pondering the pictures
of pontificating perfection
spotlight shines on the shinola
worthless or worthy;
all how you sell yourself
why not
misbegotten forgotten forgetful
turn off the light
the silence is blinding
Awkward in a spotlight on her front porch. The jasmine-scented smoke from your pipe hanging over us. One at a time, we passed through two front doors, beveled glass. You let me walk ahead of you. You treat me different, but you don’t treat me like her. You throw tangerine peels at her. You know that I know.
Here’s her chance to steal the spotlight – here’s her chance to steal the show. Dance and sing and rock the world and wow the audience in one go. Feel the heat against her back. Smell the sweat – she’s all aglow. She desires to awe and inspire and hopes that you’ll toss her a rose.