Dancing Dreams

martha-graham

That night I wanted to

Dance,

The free-form passionate kind,

So I got up from sleepless slumber,

Sipped on weak wine

To stop the neurons from firing,

Destimulate the mind.

 

I never drink alcohol.

 

For the first time, I

was so tired of my body

out of my mind’s control

that I wanted to be

Completely

out of control.

The tension of my body,

the cracks in my bones,

the stiffness of my neck,

the inflexibility of my legs

Reflect an endurance sport

not impassioned beauty

like dance,

Where you flex every joint,

every muscle

until the mind is freed

from the body,

 

Then, time  would no longer

be a constraint,

It could mold to my every

Whim,

I would no longer be

Constrained

by sleep, the necessity of it,

Withering without it,

Into a hollow soul,

Pale sunken eyes

That stare listless at nothing.

 

Constrained

by what

I want most,

The obligations,

Responsibilities,

Desire

That come with every dream

 

Constrained

By the places

I feel out of place,

Should be

Brave,

Alert,

Strong,

Cannot always

Be.

 

That night,

I was tired of being intently

Rigid, of

Society’s new emphasis on

“Successful” “Strong” “Loud” women,

And only the beautiful ones

Are never too loud.

 

That night,

I just wanted to feel

Damn beautiful.

 

I wanted to dance like

An angel from the heavens,

To turn every man’s eyes

As he watched my body move

In elegance,

To speak to his heart,

Not his mind.

 

The heart of a dancer

Does not just beat,

But also feels

The pain and exuberance

Of every measured vibrato,

Dissonance,

Harmony.

 

The body of a dancer

Is not only physical

But also holds power within

Its potential to shape-shift,

To listen to rhythmic beats,

and step in tune with melody,

To make beauty

Out of

Nothing

But the human body,

To become art itself,

Crafted,

Aesthetic,

Open to interpretation.

 

I am no dancer.

 

So instead,

I scribbled a little,

Waiting for the drowsiness

To hit.

 

The mind of a writer

Does not always cease

When the day does,

It does not always listen

To logic, does not

Slow down,

Relax,

Forget.

 

Sometimes, it wants

To dance,

Other times, it simply tries

To unravel the

Knots–

Slowly, until

The fingers burn,

And the ropes are

Freed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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