I Dance

Too sentimental-
sweet, sugared words,
viscous nectars that choke--
rather than slide and soothe.
Perhaps, yes perhaps-
true.

Shunning the dark places,
I touch the light places--
helium corners that leave me giggling,
floating, dancing.
Yes, I dance in the dark--
my footsteps drowning out the
sounds of sobbing.
Perhaps, yes perhaps-
true.

Pollyanna girl-
Trying to convince (myself? you?) that broken
glass is sunlit jewels.
That gray skies make the blue cerulean.
That the blood drops we leave spattered
behind as we ache through life-
modern art and beautiful in the spilling,
making us who we are.
Perhaps, yes perhaps-
true.

Down can smother-
and perfume burn sensitive tissues
with too big a whiff.
And honey good only in small licks--
or melted in hot, bitter drinks to make the taste
more palatable.
Perhaps, yes perhaps-
true.

There is courage in looking beyond
the pain-
strength in singing out still,
when throats burn from too much screaming.
Selective seeing-
choosing the baggage I carry.
When I can, saving my song for the words that
make my steps lighter as I dance--
on cracked heels and calloused toes,
from heartbreaks, heartaches
and bruised knees.
Perhaps, yes perhaps-
also true.

At times, I think in candied waves,
and share them as such.
No less honest,
than if I threw dirt onto the
paintings I write.
No apologies in my smile, only explanation
in my tone.
There is room for the sweet with the bitter--
not always needing to be mixed.
This is my chord.
No perhaps, just yes-
True.

note-this was written in response to a rather harsh and painful critique given by someone very close to me. I sat on it for a long time before submitting it as I worried that people who have commented on some of my work, would take it as an attack. That was not my intention at all. I love any and ALL feedback however, this person being someone, as I said, close to me, struck a nerve.Ah well, it ain't always easy being cheesy, heh.