A merciful hand squeezes the sponge in my mind
As the grip tightens, my body weakens
Driven by love, resulting in hate
Comparison leads to a desire for numbness
The goal of perfection leads to despise
Despisal for the very entity that gives the gift of dance
My body
Movement heals, but it also reminds
A lasting reminder that no matter what
The joy will at some point be lost
The sponge dry, the hand tired
Music will no longer demand motion
Death of a hobby, turned passion, turned love
My gratitude lasts long after the fire is put out
True love for the fire, hatred for the burn
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your vision, your voice