I am a dancer.
Arabesque to piano concertos
and painted faces before a performance.
I am bruised legs and
sit ups and missing papers,
because I swear I did it it's just not with me.
I am spindling vines that climbed trees
and fed off of what other people loved
because I was desperate enough
to be wanted and
I am sirens that tear through
my neighborhood as I
listen in the dark to the sound
of someone walking in through my window
(it's a one story house- not much to talk about).
I am sleep and
I am wishing for sleep and
I am needing sleep
when the words you're looking for just
fall out of your mouth like baby teeth
(blood and all) and I am missing,
but I am found in between pages
of books and in corners beneath covers
and in the creases on
a well handled dollar bill,
I am wherever I can squeeze myself into
to try and play the good girl.

I am a dancer, not tall and thin,
with caged ribs and feathers
in the back of my throat,
coughing up monsters that
can't wait to get back in.