She wanes and waxes, cutting shapes in reflected lights. Easier to catch, harder to predict. I watch from the sides, scared to commit, afraid of failure, breeding shame. I sit still as she shifts and shimmies. But the lights accept her as their own and she breaks apart into a billion brilliant particles. The air becomes her, forms a lustre making sweat sheen, banal beatific, dull keen, and radiance sublime. Now her light is everything. That, I will never be. I sit still and settle for proximity. She coalesces and cavorts, reshapes herself and sees me. Join, she gestures…
Nic
Nic Addenbrooke is a freelance writer, editor, content creator, radio broadcaster, part-time poet and sometimes artist. Nic has been coming to terms with existence for years. He currently lives and works in Brisbane where he struggles to turn the cacophony of voices in his head into things of substance. It doesn’t always work but occasionally produces a nice veneer of sanity.
27/11/2021 at 03:55
stage
when i dance i feel
only music but i know
many eyes watch me
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27/11/2021 at 03:57
stage
when i dance i feel
only music but i know
many eyes watch me
LikeLike