*Note: just found this in an old notebook, never posted it anywhere.
i wanted to watch her dance,
but was afraid of what she might think.
liquid; she moved like liquid through narrow pipes.
this well-oiled ballerina,
body moving in jerks and twists,
enabled by something i can't see
or hear.
if she catches my eye, i know
she'll think i'm "funny,"
a little to the left, rather than the right,
with no way of convincing otherwise.
once i twirled with knobby knees
and awkward stances.
i could never get my feet to point the right way,
but i could always count on rhythm
and the tinkle of jewelry box music
to free me from feeling caged in.
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