Born of Floor and Feet


Lactic acid finds its way through me

and I welcome it.

With each salty drop that falls from my brow

I come closer to heaven;

more spirit than body.

My sternum stretches in all directions, 

sending light through every end of my vessel.

Fingers, toes, lips and hips swinging and teeming with electricty.

Where one motion begins, as does another.

My body speaks only in fragments, 

but these combine to tell a story

of lost, found, and lost again.

I find power in this ritual of exposure.

I am unfolding myself before a crowd, so all that I am is seen.

I coil and tangle myself, half-clothed in a room full of mirrors.

My lows could sink into the floor,

and my highs soar above rooftops,

into the clouds.

Even the tippest of my toes have the strength to stretch muscles like taffy,

and to launch my person into the sky.

The clouds embrace me warmly 

and kiss my forehead,

but the floor is my home and I must return now.

It welcomes me,

smililng and with wide-spread arms,

in tears though I may be.


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