You ask me why I’m dancing
You thought me to be insane
Could you not hear the music?
Or was it only in my *brain?

I want to shake you
Scream into your face
are you blind?
made of stone?
I want to guide your hand
give you a nudge
a hint....a clue
but it is forbidden.

You see, I've knocked on that door,
more than once
I've prayed to whoever, whatever, that she would open it, just enough to feel my love.
You only had to smile and the locks, once rusted, turned with ease.

I've clutched at straws, held her so tightly, dried her tears, praying that she'd see me....

She only sees you.
Just you.
In every raindrop.
In every storm.
In every leaf that's ever fallen.
In every rotation of this planet
You.

She never speaks your name,
She sings it
To a melody so haunting that it captures all that hear it
a symphony of sorrow
as a heart once laid to rest starts to beat, to believe....then to mourn.

She loves you, though she always swore it was a lie.
She loves you, though she promised not to.
She loves you, I see it, in every smile that lays tangled within her confusion, her tangible fear.

I can only love her from afar
I can only wonder at her strength
as she protects your heart at the expense of her own
as I wait to pick up her shattered pieces once more.

Some things exist behind curtains of experience.  

Those whose tongues have
tasted the holy fire know the touch
of something divine.

Those who have laid eyes on
their sleeping bodies, and walked
away to places unknown, can grasp
the idea of an inbetween.

Those who have groped in the darkness
for something to believe in again, who
have longingly looked over the cliff edge,
know that true despair does exist.

As for me,

I know that true fear can
come in the form of footsteps
behind you on the empty street.

The person at the bar who insists on
hollow compliments and free drinks.

Friends who scoff at your anger for
men who yell out their passenger side
windows about the treasures beneath
your clothes.

True fear can come in the middle
of the afternoon, as you face
off against the four floor staircase
to your apartment, when your steps
are echoed by the man in 2b who has
a wife, son, and a taste for resistance.

Don't tell me I'm overreacting,
when the single most terrifying thing
I can do is walk alone under the street lamps.

Don't tell me I'm too uptight just
because I've learned that flattery
can come with a horrifying price tag.

Don't tell me I'm wrong just
because you don't understand.

Look me in the eye when you have
waited until a security guard can walk you
to your car.  When you have held your
breath in a shared elevator.  When you have
lowered your eyes to the men who yell
obscenities at you, because standing up
for yourself could prove deadly.  

Look me in the eye when you have held back
the curtain of experience, and walked in the shoes
of someone who lives every moment knowing
this could be the day someone decides to steal
from me what is only mine to give.

Then look me in the eye when you tell
someone of your wound, and they reprimand
you for daring to walk this world as a woman.