Pain is a language I understand
I’m quite proficient in hurt and pity
I speak them like a native
For years I’ve practiced those tongues
I can read and write in them
I can operate in them daily
...Love though, is a dialect apart,
One I can’t seem to master
The grammar is tricky
The tones are hard to speak
And there is vocabulary I forget
They say you learn better young
Perhaps I’ve grown too old to learn
Perhaps I just need a speaking partner
It seems fruitless to study it any longer
For now I’ll get by on broken phrases

She grows beautiful flowers
Treating her plants like children
Colors so bright and vibrant
They make me smile to see.
The plant lady has learned
When life gives you it’s worst,
Do not wallow in the muck.
Do not spread it to others.
Instead, plant flowers in it
Grow something wonderful

In the search for greater freedom of movement.
new ideas began to emerge,
rebellion against classical forms and practices
in what is now called aesthetic
disregarded the limited set of movements that were considered proper
Artistic content morphed and shifted
for young people longed to dance.
Music and rhythmic ****** movement are twin sisters of art,
portrayed in movements what the master expresses in his compositions
bare feet, loose hair, free-flowing
a form of natural movement and improvisation
Presenting dramatic contemporary imagery,  
often revealing the full spectrum of human experience
reflecting the tension and alienation of the time
the truth of human movement.
introduce chance procedures and pure movement to the cannon of dance
focused on the physical tasks of overcoming obstacles
investigate the properties of physical space and movement.
having a heightened sense of awareness of being grounded to the floor
at the same time, feeling the energy throughout the entire body,
flexibility, strength, coordination, body awareness ,
and poly-rhythmic movement; strong dramatic works
free from the limiting strictures of the big monopolistic managements

When I tried to be like you
I folded
When I tried to fit it in
I was torn
I somehow thought
If I become the wanted shape
I would be better
I just got further away
Now, as I unravel the mess
Tape and smooth and reshape
Let me reform
Returning to true

My Aphrodite, My Bast
I call you “The Goddess”
My Cerridwen, My Diana
The Goddess of what?
My Freya, My Gaia
You ask me what I love
My Hera, My Isis
The ancients had many aspects
My Juno, My Kali
I worship all of yours.
My Lakshmi, My Maat,
Even if deadly...
My Pavarti, My Rhea
I did not create you
My Themis, My Venus
But I adore your creation.

So I opened the jar
I drank what was inside
And it can never go back
It’s out there now
I can’t return it
I’m forced to relearn it
But when I finish
I realize the truth
Life wouldn’t be great or sad
Wonderful or bad
If you don’t live it
I look in the empty glass
And the last thing there
Is Hope

In the days of the Old Gods
The Sun was a deity
People basked in her light
Worshiping the power
What gift for a star?
I cannot shine brighter
I cannot burn hotter
...I can be a mirror
Gaze into me
Your warmth and power
Reflected back
I only wish to see you shine