Dedicated to petrified souls everywhere. You know who you are.
Heart pounding, palms sweating
Why is it so hot?
Is the audience staring
Or Intently watching?
I'm uncomfortably on the spot
Wrong slide, wrong line
Right idea to be afraid
Faking my way
Through a part
I never wanted to play
I scan the room for a friendly face
But stony features reveal nothing
I picture them there
In their underwear - STOP
Now I find myself blushing
The pressure grips me
My terror trips me
Pretty certain I'm coming off manic
Can't hold on to my confidence
And I can't shake off the panic
They assured me
I could do this
Get through my part without fail
But in this state I only hear white noise
Why didn't I think to bail?
I could jumble words, bumble them
Or lose my place
The list of how I might err is long
Even if I get my lines just right
A clever question can turn it wrong
Wait, I'm turning the final page
And at long last
Regain my breath
Yes, this fear is of my making
No less frightening than death
It's almost time
To quit the stage
With my ineptness still concealed
I impart my final thoughts to the room
As an expert in my field
'Til next time around
My relief abounds
Ecstatic to be through it!
But six months from now--
What awful luck --
I'll be back here again to redo it!
RJ 10/2014
I don't write poetry, or at least I haven't since I was a kid. This sentiment materialized when I sat down to make fun of myself for feeling angst over a presentation I was expected to give this week. I wasn't alone. Many others I work with had to put on a brave face and push through it.
For some it was a pleasure to have the floor, to shine, but I'm pretty sure they are the exceptional few. The majority loathed the looming date of their presentation. I heard chatter about their preparation (inside and outside of their heads), loss of sleep, outright dread and pure fear over all the things that could go wrong in the minutes they stood in front of their audience of 30 plus. I probably fall somewhere in the middle, but I certainly don't discount the full-on horror some feel for public speaking.
Despite the ghastliness of it all, I'm happy to report everyone survived. What doesn't kill us...
Heart pounding, palms sweating
Why is it so hot?
Is the audience staring
Or Intently watching?
I'm uncomfortably on the spot
Wrong slide, wrong line
Right idea to be afraid
Faking my way
Through a part
I never wanted to play
I scan the room for a friendly face
But stony features reveal nothing
I picture them there
In their underwear - STOP
Now I find myself blushing
The pressure grips me
My terror trips me
Pretty certain I'm coming off manic
Can't hold on to my confidence
And I can't shake off the panic
They assured me
I could do this
Get through my part without fail
But in this state I only hear white noise
Why didn't I think to bail?
I could jumble words, bumble them
Or lose my place
The list of how I might err is long
Even if I get my lines just right
A clever question can turn it wrong
Wait, I'm turning the final page
And at long last
Regain my breath
Yes, this fear is of my making
No less frightening than death
It's almost time
To quit the stage
With my ineptness still concealed
I impart my final thoughts to the room
As an expert in my field
'Til next time around
My relief abounds
Ecstatic to be through it!
But six months from now--
What awful luck --
I'll be back here again to redo it!
RJ 10/2014
I don't write poetry, or at least I haven't since I was a kid. This sentiment materialized when I sat down to make fun of myself for feeling angst over a presentation I was expected to give this week. I wasn't alone. Many others I work with had to put on a brave face and push through it.
For some it was a pleasure to have the floor, to shine, but I'm pretty sure they are the exceptional few. The majority loathed the looming date of their presentation. I heard chatter about their preparation (inside and outside of their heads), loss of sleep, outright dread and pure fear over all the things that could go wrong in the minutes they stood in front of their audience of 30 plus. I probably fall somewhere in the middle, but I certainly don't discount the full-on horror some feel for public speaking.
Despite the ghastliness of it all, I'm happy to report everyone survived. What doesn't kill us...
No comments:
Post a Comment