REWRITTEN IN LIGHT
A poem about discovering and reclaiming a sense of self through performance. As the speaker inhabits characters whose anger, grief, and vulnerability echo her own, the stage becomes a place where she can confront the parts of herself she once tried to hide—and carry that newfound wholeness beyond the spotlight.
POETRY
Cassi Sullivan
I thought I’d never feel joy again.
Never love.
Never feel—
Muted in a world that bends towards indifference,
Untethered. Unwanted. Unseen.
Then—
The theater doors.
A hush.
A stage I mistook for illusion,
A mask of light—
Until it became my truth.
“5 minutes! Places!”
The call slices through shadow.
It wants me.
Beckons me.
My breath catches—
A fist of pulse drumming my ribs.
The red velvet lifts.
Polished wood, trembling with raw hope.
A tide of unknown eyes
Surges to mine—
Not judging.
Joining.
I drink the light.
At last—seen.
The spotlight asks nothing;
It holds me.
Watches without flinching.
Lifts me.
I become the enraged killer.
The orphan.
The recluse.
The broken housewife.
The shrouded phantom.
Each role: a skin torn loose,
Where grief bleeds,
And strength begins.
I am them.
They are me.
Every fracture, every fury—
My rage, my ruin,
My bitterness,
My loathing—
Laid open.
The watchers face me.
They do not recoil.
They do not laugh.
They listen.
They fall silent.
They rise.
They see me—and stay.
I act,
Breathing out myself.
I turn toward my flaws—
Use them,
Wield them.
This body I once cursed
Becomes instrument.
Becomes channel.
Becomes voice.
I falter.
I flare.
I fly.
Each step pulls me whole
Until pretense falls away.
I am becoming.
I am becoming.
I take a breath,
Claim the light,
Speak in my skin,
And dare the silence to answer.
(Scholastic Writing Award: Silver Key Award)
