Poetry

Don’t Dance.

They will tell you
Don't dance,
It doesn't look good.
Your flabs wiggle ugly
You look weird trying those moves
Don't dance.
You might break your ankle.
Lose your mind.
Your hair, it's sweaty, disheveled.

They will tell you
Control that brimming spontaneity
Be what is expected of you
Gulp your eccentricity
Stifle your calling

They will tell you
Being in trance is a taboo
And dancing barefoot is unwomanly
Slouch. Cover. Pretend.
Smile politely.

They will tell you this.
Over and over again.

And here's the thing girl.
When they tell you this
Know,
you are doing something right
Something that makes you
YOU.