Halfway in every direction.

would you recognize that eerie chill of thinking of something painful and repulsive and letting that feeling engulf you, and actually cause causing a physical reaction. or would you pass it off as a fucking joke. this wasn’t supposed to go anywhere. my ability to accurately express is diminishing. maybe i’m growing dumber. no, i’m definitely getting dumber, the question is why. and it is a question i cannot answer because i am dumb. i have theories, but then again i must not because dumb people can’t have theories that’s work for all the smart people to concern themselves with. 

bring the power to a close
under lock and key
there rises from the restrained
an urge of freedom

bring about the past
recover the old
using any idea of dust 
a crude replacement

bring about the answer
don’t look around
glance upwards or sideways
just not behind

i have two wishes that i rotate between whenever circumstances arise or an eyelash finds its way onto my fingertip. 

if i don’t make sense, but you don’t either, are we both wrong? or right? or stuck? 

It’s easy to identify the best of times when it’s a part of the past, harder to appreciate when the best of times is the current time. So appreciate every moment? Or just sulk knowing that the best has already passed and we might as well just eat cake and hide in caves. 

My studio director just approved my idea of choreographing a piece for the DC Performing Company for the upcoming season and I’m just so elated and can’t sit still. It’s not even that big of a deal, but I’m so excited to work with the dancers and choreograph a piece that I can call my own work. 

If your inch was my mile, and your pint was my pinprick, where would we be? If a cup to you was a gallon to me, and a crack in the sidewalk was a gaping canyon, who decides who is right? If you’re not hurt and I’m bleeding, as a figure of speech, what does that really mean? Because as much as I understand the need for consistency, I wish we could do without it. 

“Words are, in my not-so-humble opinion, our most inexhaustible source of magic. Capable of both inflicting injury, and remedying it.”

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somehow under the assumption
that paragraph breaks equate
to poetry.

someone please clear up
my preconceived notion.

sometime, maybe soon,
i’ll know how to express
in ten words or less.

however, that probably isn’t poetry either. 

unsure if this is cynicism or a cruel universal trick. 

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