Dancing On Broken Toes
How easily do our airy flights of fancy escape the gravity of our mundane lives.
We reach with dreams of fickle laced lightness for that which lies beyond our corporeal grasp.
The ‘what ifs’ come with practice, spring-boarding from disillusion and delusion.
We hang ourselves on a whim, a promise, a commitment … a figment of our imagination.
We dance. Our toes break.
The crying out reverberates silently as words dissolve into anguish.
Time and space fold in on themselves to accommodate our self-formed fetal ball.
Denial is a cruel mistress, fermenting our brains in torment, egging us on to equal parts self-loathing and false security.
Toes skid across the floor and snap.
Our pirouette resolves into a swan dive, flailing arms still reaching for an esteemed illusion.
A wisp of smoke dances where once a flame burned.
Zeitgeist, the doppelganger, looks on with menace, perhaps glee, always ready with the safety net of reality and six feet of dust below.
And in the end … some are robbed from even knowing it was all bullshit.
How easily we dance on broken toes.
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Suggested Reading:
Loitering Words 
Maybe they are broken by the ones who step on them. They want to break them. And I keep dancing, yes, if I can dance through the pain of others chiding me then maybe eventually I will be given wings to lift myself above the hurt, above the cruelty of a world who stopped believing in dreams. My toes bend and bleed. They bleed for the ones who have stopped believing, not in my dreams, but in their own.
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Oh yes, beware of the toe-breakers, and even the back-breakers, hiding under the floorboards, always looking to trip us up. Defensively, some learn to tap dance and others learn to clog because of this! One way or the other, dance on. Thanks for your comment, Nicole. 🙂
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