Still, I Dance.

 I’d be a dancer if I was smaller.

At times, it feels as if, maybe

I’d be so much more,

if I was smaller.

Still, I dance.

Still, I touch the sky on my tippy toes.

On the soles of my feet, I carry myself in a way

I know will not be possible by anyone else.

This body is the only one I have to dance in.

These toes are the only balance I have,

No matter if Yaya called them my paddle toes.

I’m swimming through sound with the windows open and headphones on.

Let them wonder what I’m doing.

Let them ask what I’m doing.

Invite them to join.

Here I am. Fully in my body, I am 25 going on 5.

My Boise is playing in my mind, this carpet is my childhood living room.

No time has passed.

Dramatic play, playing out visions of what could be.

Daydream dancer, in another world, fully in this body.

Still, I dance.

Dancing is like pure dopamine.

Never have I floated so high.

On my tippy toes, I touch the sky.

I spread my feet wide, arms open, chin up, looking toward the ether.

Here I am, spread open. Taking up as much space as I can.

Still, I dance.