Some more lyrical prose:
Eking toward brightness, center bound. Layers like clothes peel away, broken, soiled, worn with care. Shed like tears to fill and fill and fill that river. Turning inside out, spinning in the wind. Wind of words and musts and oughts and shoulds and someday soon.
Eking, shrieking, dragging shuffling feet that itch to dance; to find that primal beat once forgotten but always remembered. Listen. Listen. Listen. Tap-tapping distant calls like first drops of rain. With the tears, tap-tap. Thrumming thunder emerges, memory serves me up a dish of long ago. Recognition flashes from the swamp. Aboriginal drumbeat is my heart. My feet. My steps. Step step thrum tap tap thrum. Emerge. Emerge. Evolve.
Eking timid frightened toward, forward, and through. Step step step.
Eyes off your feet now - dance!
Originally published on Periphery.
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