Fly on the Wall

Felt like a spectator all my life
From the outside looking in
Watching from afar as histories made and lives lived
Witnessing my stead both joy and grief

Attempts made to mingle alon
Laughing when I was dying inside
Sober as laughter threatened to rip through
This game I played, for far too much time

Mask upon mask I wore with time
Played my roles to the T
All the while wondering inside
Is there any point to such play acting?

Crowded rooms stifling me throughout
The me inside me reduced to an amorphous blob
Every atom in me torn to bits
Shaken and stirred like an incongruent cocktail

And as I painstakingly put the pieces back
With the knowledge of a thousand lives lived
All those games and all those lies
Pointing me towards an undeniable truth

That maybe this insane desire to fit in
Was a rite of passage perhaps?
An attempt to help me value my singularity?
To be the spectator and not the player

To be that speck invisible yet present in the moment
Armed with the power to be circumspect
Watching silently as secrets unveiled and truths revealed
Quietly being that fly on the wall....