Sometimes I get so mad that my hands shake.
It's a slight tremor, unnoticeable unless you're touching me.
I clench them into fists, but then the whole length of my arms shake too.
That happens when the boys at the back of the bus get bored
And start calling me names
Or when I'm sitting at a lunch table, watching people eat
With an empty space in front of me
Or when I realize how bored I am
And how little I have to show for
I've done nothing grandiose
Nothing meaningful
I'm just a stone girl
With a quick temper
And a pretty face
Sometimes, people come up to me and tell me that
"You have a pretty face" they say,
And I thank them
Only actually,
I'm spitting fire like mad on the inside
YOU ARE READING
We Can Still Dance
PoetryIn this world, there are painters and writers, teachers and philosophers. Theorists and dancers. People. Complex, enigmatic, people like you and me. People with stories. This book is a collection of poems, based on events experienced by anyone an...
