I want to turn these clicking letters into piano keys and play you a masterpiece. I’m writing a dance; the wave of passion flowing from more than just my hands. I am a contortionist of thought; I am inspired not by danger but by irony; the ability for a sailboat to survive tossing seas. I laugh maniacally and nervousness racks my fingertips with an energy I’m not sure I can bear to you. But I need to stop assuming that you can’t understand.
My forte is bringing starlit skies into my body. Repeated rhythms soothe me and I can’t choose a favorite color. Every part of the spectrum moves differently. I’ve learned that improvisation works best when you’re not sure which color you feel or which color you see. I don’t want to lose the moment to be lavender or ice blue; I want to be moved by every movement.
I rather be moved than inspired. I rather lose than gain what I’m not supposed to. I find peace in not knowing; I find releasing in moving to this beat: to just jam it out below my fingertips and to yell and sing even if I crack. I’m learning to play; I’m learning to let go and move to release this body from chains and silent screams; I have not cut off any part of my soul but I’ve gained more by letting go.
My leg is gone but I’m moving better than I ever have, and I see more colors than I’ve ever comprehended before.
Can you say what you really want to say?
You can’t stop me and you shouldn’t let anything stop you either.