The spotlight's on me.

Oh, what to do?
What to do?

I never requested to be seen by all
When I prance stupidly around the ball.

The spotlight's on me.

Oh, what to do?
What to do?

My every move is being watched.
Not a single thing I do can be botched.

The spotlight's on me.

Oh, what to do?
What to do?

I feel as though so much is expected of me,
Even though I am far from a buzzy bee.

The spotlight's on me.

How do I get rid of it?
How do I remove it?

I tremble beneath the glare of the light,
My legs quite literally shaking in my boots.

Laughter?
Is that laughter I hear when I try to force my words out of my mouth?

Who is it from?

I can't see.

All I can see is a mesh of darkness hugging the spotlight around me tightly:
Trapping me,
Encasing me.

Silence?
Is that silence I hear when I try to even whisper the words I want to say?

Is anybody there?

I can't hear.

All I can hear is every stutter and voice crack from my quiet self:
Scaring me,
Petrifying me.

Applause?
Is that applause echoing through the room when I finally choke out my words?

Is it out a pity?

I can't tell.

I can't crawl into other's minds to get the answers I seek:
Leaving me clueless,
Leaving me fearful.

The spotlight's on me.

What do I do?

Here's a better question:

The spotlight is on you.

What do you do?