The Dancer and The Writer: 3

Three

I dance.

I try to tell him

How much he affects me

How his influx into my life

Has offset the harmony

How he has breached boundaries

That I let no one near.

How he forced his way in.

But I can’t find the words.

I am not like him.

Words do not come to me

As naturally as they do for him.

So I dance,

And I show him.

 

I write.

She is my muse

And she is my poetry.

I write to understand her

To define her

Pages and pages

Are filled with her

And yet it is not her.

Secretly, I am glad of my failure

Because once

I succeed in my attempts

It will be the end

Of us.

And yet,

For the life of me

I cannot stop.

So I write.

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