Scattered Dancing

I can tell you why I love to dance,
But you'd have to sit down and wait a while. 
Only if you're willing to take a soft chair and settle in my head for a bit,
Watching my memories slide past.
You're sure, then?
Well... alright.

I've been pointing my toes for as long as I can remember,
Doing off-balanced pirouettes and tiny leaps across tiny living rooms
Classes were never something that appealed to me immensely, 
I sort of can recall jazz classes I thought were totally boring,
And the ballet course I quit for an unknown reason.

I can remember sitting on old couches and watching "Dancing With The Stars" 
My eyes glued to the screen
Crying when someone who I didn't want to win won,
Grinning when my favorites got perfect tens.
I would copy the way they held their arms in the Viennese Waltz,
Their soft foot-falls and turns done over and over on my living room floor
To songs like "Cheerleader" and "All About That Bass"
Every evening after supper I would turn on the living room speakers and dance to my favorite songs until bath time.
I would even practice the jive,
Thinking back to it now, I'm smiling because I thought I was so good
But really I was just kicking like a kangaroo-turned-Irish dancer.

Choregraphy never appealed to me,
Heck, it still doesn't, 
I'd rather just make up the moves as I go
(thanks, Taylor Swift!)
Thousands of dances and steps whirled inside my mind
Listening to the radio, making up incredible routines to the songs that came on,
Dancers twirling around in incredible silk dresses.

I could never resist jumping, leaping, and turning
On dark city streets and at hotels with pools,
Always just trying to make my feet move the way I wanted them to.
In the summer, we got to go to the local college because we had family who worked there,
And I can remember oh so clearly feeling like we were sneaking into the giant theater,
Bringing costumes,
Or opening the doors to the huge perforamance space or whatever it was,
Taking a huge breath in and not being able to comprehend the wonders around me,
As I did my dances to the quiet music from my mom's phone.
I would run up the catwalks with my sister and we would make up games,
Our own performance fantasies, our own crazy story of artistic fame.
Or we would go to the studio and I would pretend to be a ballet dancer,
Putting on my leotard and slippers and pirouetting all around the room, hiding behind large curtains. 

The memories flashing in my brain right now are as clear as the polished mirrors I dreamed about dancing in front of,
But though I'm still only pretending
To be in routines to "All of Me" by John Legend and stupid One Direction love ballads,
At night the only thing I'll picture is me 
On the stage with mounting excitement and pointe shoes and a twirling skirt.
But because I never took classes,
I guess it'll never happen.
Maybe I'll have to keep pretending,
Until someone realizes my pretending is better than reality.

So. So, that's the story. 
Confusing and uplifting and crazily all over the place,
Just like when I dance. 
Chin up,
Point your toe,
This next song is my favorite.