Do YOU think you can DANCE?

Just look at that floor.
So open. So inviting, yet also completly and utterly daunting. I want to lay upon it with my arms above my head and just breathe. In. Out. In. This wood that has seen so many feet. The grainy oak designed so that no splinters could be potentially harmful to my bare modest feet. A studio, devoted to dancing. How am I honestly supposed to fit in here.

I am standing in this here room because I have decided to dance. Simply that. A strange, timid place that I cannot actually touch. So I close my eyes and center my thinking to only what is happening now inside of these reflective walls. I sense the smooth melody as it invades the contents of my bones. The music that earnestly feels as though it is touching the pulse of my world. Connecting the equilibrium of winter into spring and leading stress away from my sorrowful shoulders. I begin with a step. And then another. Would I dare to call this dancing. I dare to call it dancing, and you know what....I absolutly love it!

My body is a tool. I stretch, far, farther, the farthest Ive ever reached before. The blood moves fiercely throughout my toes as I sweep across the room. This room that at this moment is my one topic of discussion. No other stress prying into my brain. A path of communication to an entirely stable emotion. Needing no sound like in the artificial manner that humans tend to take for granted to convey expression. I open my insecure eyes and look into the relentless wall of mirrors surrounding me.

I feel demure, coy, shy, and immature on this broad floor with all of these distinguished dancers enveloping me, trying to emmulate them to the best of my ability and knowledge life so far has given me. Into its mirror that I watch my own reserved form as it silently crouches, pauses and tentatively approaches a place that balance may just tilt a bit too much and land square on the floor with a bruise if taken too far beyond its experience.

Wait a darn second. In a rush I can not only see myself but I can feel myself as a whole. Here I am. I too am a dancer, if only a newborn dancer. Molded into the body which is my own, as it defends the upright dynamics of a day to day struggle. For it is only the capacity of our minds that is so relentless to tease our fragile spirit. I smile at how liberating a movement can enunciate its way into your thinking. For this euphonious moment I am in, even if I try my will does not attempt to walk away. To only describe does not emit enough justice to this lyrical feeling. To keep dancing is always the next step. Whatever is happening to take the time to not doubt what you enjoy is crucial.

What are the steps you must take to get to where you are headed. So tell me, do you think you can dance?

Lost lady

I feel I must resemble the lady that is lost, immersed in the stale mottled greasy clothes of her delinquent lovers. She finds comfort, security, calm in keeping this odd assortment of garments that she hopes will one day prove that she did not love in vain. The lines on her face tell all the stories of her deliciously ancient experiences. But for now she has nobody to indulge. She thrives in her own drowning imagination. Should she let it go. Could she let it go. Let go.

Still she goes to bed wearing her past lovers moth holed webby plaid stained cloth.