(Softly, measured)
I’m standing...
on this shifting ground.
No maps.
No signs.
No solid sound.
Just whispers in the wind—
Of who to be.
Of how to please.
"Be more of a man."
"Don’t be stupid."
"Measure up."
Unwritten laws,
etched in glances,
hung in the air like smoke—
a contract I never signed,
but somehow always owed.
(Beat)
Imagine a scale—
floating between us.
Not gold, not iron—
but invisible.
One side?
Power.
Resources.
Control.
The other?
Me—
with hands full of effort,
heart full of doubt,
and pockets full of apologies
for being…
less than.
(Pause. Lean in, softer.)
But the weight is never clear.
What balanced yesterday
slips through today.
The goalposts move
in the middle of the game
and still—
I play.
(Build rhythm)
This house I live in?
Glass.
Walls transparent,
roof uncertain.
The thermostat?
Out of reach.
The warmth? Conditional.
The leaks? Situational.
The approval?
Transactional.
Outside, a stone fortress.
Thick walls.
Thicker silence.
And I, on the outside,
watching windows open
just long enough
to remember what warmth felt like.
(Pause. Slow.)
The weather here?
It changes
with favor.
Sun when I perform.
Storms when I fail.
Fog when the rules
aren’t even shared.
So I become a weather-watcher.
A shape-shifter.
A soul contortionist
hoping to please
an invisible audience
that never claps
but always notices when you fall.
(Beat)
And then—
A crossroads.
Four paths, all worn.
Adapt.
Redefine.
Draw boundaries.
Speak truths.
Each takes courage.
None guarantee comfort.
But maybe—
maybe they lead somewhere real.
(Pause. Then slower, deliberate.)
Shades of grey
between black and white.
Autonomy...
or surrender?
Fast.
Cheap.
Good.
Pick two.
Lose one.
Lose yourself?
(Tone shift—mythic, slow power)
And I think of Theon.
Grey.
Joy.
A name,
a wound,
a mirror.
We are all Theon
in the grey.
Torn between homes,
between selves.
Craving love,
offering loyalty,
finding pain.
(Slow and tender)
But joy...
Joy is not the prize.
It’s the quiet note
that plays
when we finally
stop performing
and start becoming.
(Final lines—soft but strong)
We are all Theon in the grey.
Shaped by loss.
Tested by fire.
But still here—
to choose again.
Not to be perfect,
but to be whole.
To live
in the grey.
In truth.
In joy.
