Dance

has someone stolen your dance;
raped your dreams?

scars heal but peel…
your ripe and smell of orange.

“please, don’t hide”, she speaks to herself,
the corner of the room brightening

learns to dance in the dark.

If you have pitiful days, lying in the bottom of a bottle or wandering in briar forests. If you hold the knife, coincidentally imagining the scrapes on flesh, while watching the blood flow towards the desert. You have learned the answers to your questions. You eventually learn not to ask more questions when the answers never surprise.

If you breathe on every step. If you bump into all the rest. You will find the questions to ask. Just don’t seek the answers. Go hide.

Poetry

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