I am not a speaker, I am a dancer.
Some days to be a dancer seems a curse
Rather than to speak.
Why?
Words wondering out of mouths of speaker ,
Offering clarity I wish I could compose,
As a form of communication
Building bridges, making ties…
Defined.
But me?
My mouth manages to be the only part held still,
Offering interpretation with all ends open,
As a form of connection
Condensing confusion, highlighting depth…
Honest.
It is a difference of reality
Retailored or contained.
