where the writers are
And the Winner Is . . .

I will never have the chance to thank the Academy standing in a dress
that shimmers and flows like a rare element
while clutching a statue radiating perfection and peer adulation.
 
 “Just act the part,” my mentors urge seeing my potential
freshly minted in an alloy of talent and promise,
only to tarnish as my accent of truth goes off script stealing the scene.

I will never read the thank you speech interrupted by the orchestra
with presenters plaintively urging me to exit stage right
because benevolence and sincerity were never prime time material.

Savvy advice given by skilled thespians warns to beware of the truth
and its porous promise of freedom because
nobody believes that anymore, especially if you want to win.

I will never play a starring role in a thriller, romance or drama;
I have not the face nor fortitude needed of such chameleons
whose voices refuse to be rendered silent by the critics.

© Kelly Tweeddale 2012