Being Myself
Dance studio
full of faces I don't know,
with bodies in full control.
I wonder if they can tell
I can't move to music very well,
just by the way I walk...
probably. They're dance hawks
waiting to catch their prey
as soon as the music plays.
O well
I'm only good at being myself.
I just look around,
pretending i couldn't enjoy myself more,
as the other skilled feet on the ground
make mine want to melt into the floor.
"At least we're cute", my feet say
"as long as we're not getting in each other's way."
Another's feet approach,
those of a man.
I tell myself not to croak
as I take his hand.
I tell myself to look around,
but my eyes are glued to the ground.
My feet don't move right
without reassurance from my eyes.
Turns out I'm no good at this,
as I pray for the song to finish.
Yet, this is fun.
I don't want to ever be done,
I'm not meant to be skilled.
I'm only good at being myself.
I almost get it,
then lose confidence.
I pretend to have grace,
trigger my inner dancer;
try to float on air,
act as though clouds are the ground.
I try to feel, feel, feel
but instead I think, think, think.
After all, I'm only good at being me.
He says "Let me lead you", I think "You wanna bet?"
Like I said,
I'm only good at...
Copyright © Joy Bohland | Year Posted 2010
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