Born to...

There are little girls who want to be dancers when they grow up,

so they take ballet and tap and jazz 
and hip-hop if their mothers are cool.

And then there are little girls who don't want to be dancers...they just are.

She was one of the latter.

You'd see her her in line, weaving her hips in a perfect figure eight

while the boy behind the register bags her bananas and kale.

You'd see her running through the park, 

sashaying and snapping her fingers to a rhythm in her head.

Everyone in her wake wishing they knew her song. 

She sat at a desk at the most boring job on Earth,

and when she thought not one was watching,

she'd grind her ass into the chair, lift her knees, close her eyes, 

and move her shoulders to an imaginary beat.

She drove her co-workers mad.

They were always watching.

She made love to a tribal beat, tangoed while she drank her tea.

Spilling herself along her way.

Some days, she wished she could just stop and blend in.
She always looked out of time with everyone else's beat.


How do they do it? she wondered.
Stay so damn still. Like they don't even hear
the rhythm of the universe.

love