Dance when you’re broken open.
Dance when you’ve torn the bandage off.
Dance in the middle of fighting.
Dance in your blood.
Dance when you’re perfectly free.
Struck, the dancer hears a tambourine inside her,
like a wave that crests into foam at the very top,
Maybe you don’t hear that tambourine,
or the tree leaves clapping time.
Close the ears on your head,
that listen mostly to lies and cynical jokes.
There are other things to see, and hear.
A brilliant city inside your soul!
Dancing is art, just like painting or writing. It is a form of self-expression; it is used to show emotion. It can express ideas or tell a story. However, in order to dance, you must trust yourself. You cannot be self-conscious and you cannot be embarrassed.
No one is more self-conscious than a woman. No one worries more about what other people think, no one struggles more with their body image. I love to dance, but at first I was embarrassed to move, embarrassed to trust my own body’s way of expression. This poem was written for a woman.
It can take months or years to trust your body’s way of expression. You want to enjoy and express yourself, but you’re afraid. You must know your self well enough for this internal struggle to die down. It took time for me to feel the deep joy that I now feel. It takes time and trust. Trust in yourself, trust in your body. Trust in your soul.
Women are some of the strongest creatures ever created. Who cares what others think? Do we really care? Deep down inside, do we really care what others think? Some of us do. That fear swims on the surface, but way deep inside where the soul wants to be free, do we really care? Will that fear of judgment keep us from allowing ourselves to experience the unclouded joy of movement, of revelation, of thankfulness for the gift of being alive?
What about you? Will you dance? Will you express yourself, love yourself, and embrace yourself?
Just dance. With music or without, it makes no difference.