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Waking Up to Myself, Sometimes

I can feel my body wake up from a slumber –
One I didn’t know I was in
Sleeping secretly

When that drum beat breaks, breaking me open, but how I like
or maybe putting me back together, depending
Or the piano key hits perfectly askew in the way my thought was at that moment
The bell tolls in the way my heart did not know it hoped for
A woman’s hum touches my heart like a rain falling to hide my tears
my mascara wants to follow her home
A bass line matches with my heart beat a beat too long to just be chance

And I know this music is beyond what I could have called up
Some quick fix I’d otherwise had in mind
To heal all ills, that kind that comes and goes, you know?
You know.

Movement does this too: injects new life where you knew it would –
If you let it, it wells up and shows up in that ounce of muscle that needed it, that tingled with an urge to be ignited
And a dance,
an open hand towards the sky
or maybe both hands open to the low ceiling of that dark room
or a shake of the hands, a dip of the hips, a hand on the lower back with a sway

It’s that same thing that touches and heals,
either way, calling you. You hear it.
You do.
It can be as beautiful or messy or ugly or all of it at the same time, like the right kind of fight

Seems like the kicker is if you let it.
Or do you choose to choke the feeling, turn off your ears
dampen your heart with the wet rag of disbelief
Maybe you weren’t in the right mood to feel good
to peel yourself off of the floor
But oh my friend, at this point: isn’t sticking to that low ceiling in the dark room
Better than the floor?

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