Tripping on air
Heels kicking of their own accord
My own clumsy limbs
are not themselves
I know for a fact that the foot in the red shoe
is no longer my own
for my feet can't handle normal walking,
for my feet can't handle normal walking,
let alone dancing.
Dancing!
The word hardly does justice to the feeling.
The word hardly does justice to the feeling.
I feel like flying!
I feel like singing!
I am flying.
I swing
breathlessly
from partner to partner,
forgetting that my face is probably purple;
forgetting not to smile because I hate my smile;
forgetting to be shy because I don't know the boy whose arm is around
forgetting everything but the rhythm I feel;
And it's good.
Very good.
I feel like singing!
I am flying.
I swing
breathlessly
from partner to partner,
forgetting that my face is probably purple;
forgetting not to smile because I hate my smile;
forgetting to be shy because I don't know the boy whose arm is around
forgetting everything but the rhythm I feel;
And it's good.
Very good.
~By Bard, April 2nd, 2005
