A Piece Of Me Per Step

Location

LIGHTS . . . CAMERA . . . ACTION. 
 
I'm up next.
I hear the tap dancers
tapping away in sync, like rain,
as my heart gallops.
My skin crawls with goosebumps.
The world is so big;
I'm so small.
How could I possibly be seen? 
 
I ascend the staircase
leading to the stage.
I wait in anticipation as butterflies
swarm in my stomach.
The crowd goes wild
as the last song dissolves
into thin air. 
The tap dancers prance
off the stage in triumph,
finally able to take a deep breath. 
 
This is it.
The stage is mine.
I throw my shoulders back;
my fears dissipate.
Dance is my language.
I am the honeybee.
The hive is my home,
where I am the queen bee,
spreading the news with moves
that only my sisters understand.  
 
I'm keen to be the North Star
glistening in the dark, magnificent sky.
I step forward left and right
to my spot on stage.
Eyes down, lights off, curtains closed.
I can hear the crickets
behind the red barrier
between the spectators and me.
 
Silence.
 
Suddenly, the first line of my song
trickles out into a melody.
The curtains glide open.
The spotlight zooms in on me,
the performer.
 
3, 2, 1 . . .
 
And, in this moment,
I start doing the one thing
I was born to do:
 
Dance. 
 
It's like I was never scared.
I break out into a form of art
that is no other than hip-hop.
I swing out with one arm
as I lock with the other.
I jump right and left,
up and down.
I kneel to the side and roll over 
just as my feet land on the beat
almost drowning out with the
melody of the music.
 
I throw my hands up,
my smile radiating
as I let the music
take the driver's seat.
Everything feels so natural.
Everything feels so right.
I belong on this platform.
I belong on this dance floor. 
 
When I dance, I take the key,
lock out the world,
and fling it into the sea.
When the world becomes dark 
and I become blind,
the dance is the moon
to illuminate my life.
 
I move to the beat,
fast and furious
until I run out of fuel.
I don't see the bobbing heads
nor hear the clapping hands.
My love for dancing
blocks out the sidelines.
 
I'm not dancing for the world.
I'm dancing for me. 
 
Just when I think I might break
into tears and run off the stage,
I stay.
I live.
My courage;
my pain;
my happiness;
my insanity.
 
All of it bursts into life
on the ultimate wooden floor.
I realize I can escape
the world on stage.
I anxiously wait
for the next opportunity
to express my identity.
The next opportunity
to shed another layer of my wall.
 
After all,
no one can say
they know me
until they see me dance.
 
As the song ends on a note
as loud as a whisper;
as the audience thunderously applauds;
as the curtains swiftly close,
the spotlight remains on me
in my heart forever.
 
Dance is the deep breath I take
before I close my eyes
at the end of the day.
I don't dance just to get it done;
I dance to get just a little bit stronger
than before.
I break free from the cocoon,
stretch my wings,
and fly.
I fly so high that I never look back.
I am the butterfly,
and the dance floor is my flower.
 
It is where I'm home. 
 
 
 

Comments

jayden.adamski

I am a member of the Dance Team at my high school, and I got so many goosebumps reading this. It hit me right in the heart. I absolutely love this.

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