We Dance, Misunderstood
What “ matters” matter?
the why of things, the how?
If I spoke in an enlightened manner,
would you be convinced of my meaning?
Women cry out like children,
Stomping feet.
Misunderstood.
Belly dancing around issues.
Men stand stoic, offering the smile, a grain of stock.
Women die inside for this look.
Approval, conscript.
The moon causes a lunar reaction on the surface of the ocean.
Creating movement of water so vast;
it destroys a population.
Reset. Noah's Ark.
If lunar is to the Moon,
as waves are to the ocean,
How do two items suffering such distance quarrel to draw each other close?
Correlation.
We dance
We dance
We dance.
Never loving and loving only the act.
Spreading pathosis.
Nestling each other in the night.
Distilling tears on pillow cases that smell unsoiled.
Familial divisions, obscured children, betrayals.
Drawing close like lovers, absent the love.
Vulnerable, unavailable.
It was said by a wise man that all brave individuals
Have enemies.
Those with minimal ego offend.
Smug.
Are we brave or smug?
Divested with strangers we cry in the night,
Choosing to walk the week alone.
Friday night lights.
“Independent” is a buzzword.
An improper sort of adjective because I need and want you all at once,
One no more than the other.
Women love like water while men lay beside us,
Watching us sleep,
Immersed in the universe.
Capable and incapable.
Copyright © Jaime Billiel | Year Posted 2016
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