My heart center is churning,
spiraling through my chest
translating.
Moving art through my body
and suddenly all the ******* is worth it.
Walking out of dance class, towards my van,
my heart spilling all over the sidewalk,
invisible rain drops of reality trickling on my head,
the colors darken in my aura because I have to wait awhile
for the next moment where I feel like the sacrifice is paying off.
I would be a vagrant gypsy living humbly if it weren't for professional movement.
My feet are on a solid spot surrounded by things that don't love me.
At least that's how it seems, at night, when I have to fight for tranquility.
But wandering thoughts come visit me while I'm driving of pirouettes and plies,
and smiling children asking me how to teach them the rhythm of life.
Strength to endure the shadow, instead of aiming towards distractions that
evade responsibility to glow.
Stage light on bodies showing life in another context,
that is what lives in my visions of beauty.