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.