Pointe Shoes

I am feeding off your creativity.
I'm all about the metaphors and analogies these days.
The shoes I've been wearing are long deceased.
I can't dance in them anymore.
And so instead of spending some energy, taking some effort, to put on new shoes...
I don't dance at all.

I put a ring in my nose yesterday.
I spent Saturday morning with a camera in my hand.
Friday afternoon I was in a tattoo parlor.
I drove to Richmond in a big truck on Sunday, listening to Amos and Ray.

A sliver of who I am. I get the occasional glimpse, a snapshot, a whisper carried on the breeze. Giving me goosebumps, inflating my soul like a hot air balloon.

But just as quickly it is gone. Because I'm afraid of the blisters and calluses that are going to come from wearing new shoes. I don't want my toes to bleed. Which is what will happen if I lace up again... if I dare to learn a new dance (this dance that my heart already knows).

I'm trying to remember those things that make my heart feel full. And reach for them again.