I'll be honest. I'm a terrible dancer.

My rhythm, my grace

(Or lack thereof)

I've got no flexibility

No six-pack, no ballerina toes

But I've got something.

 

It comes out in little sparks

As the music warms and stretches out

The air-conditioned room

I fall, I get back up, I laugh

Keeping my eyes on my best friend

Imagining our performance

Imagining a finished product

Or, just imagining the fun we're about to have.

 

People get so caught up

In the little things--things

That don't matter (like rhythm and flexibility)

But dance is all about

The big picture, the feelings

Along the journey to success

(Or an epic failure--

But failure is a little thing, too.)

 

Why don't we fling our SAT prep books

Our ACT prep books

Our AP--you know what, just fling your entire

Stack of dust-collectors (or heavily underlineders)

Into the air!

Grades don't matter

For these thirty minutes

Your future doesn't matter

For these thirty minutes

Stress doesn't matter

For these thirty minutes.

 

That something that I have--

Creativity,

or should it be called

Desire, thirst for life and youth

That for some reason, has escaped me

Since September started.

 

That's all that matters

For these thirty minutes.