There on the dance floor
standing very still
rhythm rippling under her skin.
She is locked inside
wrapped in chains
nailed to the floor
no sign of tether.
Something old blocks expression.
The paralyzing gaze of another’s eyes.
Perhaps she dances alone
inside the quiet of her home,
paints in her room,
writing well-lit poems.
But out here on the wide open floor,
unable to own her freedom
You can feel her busting within
If the demon would just let go
She’d spit fire
and dance like hell.
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