The Dance

I need to dance

I can feel it in my blood
the bubbling
the urge

Not a swirly girly princess at the ball dance

I need a throwdown
the thumping beat
the pulsating light

Not a toe-tapping cowboy in the saloon dance

I need a free-for-all
the sweaty dance floor
the top of a table

Not a middle aged librarian at the oldies bar dance

I need some dirty dancing
the grind of my hips
the complete lack of inhibition

And a whole lotta tequila

Weeds

At first, I see only the bad
Chickweed in the collards, if you will
But then I look closely
and see a bit of beauty still

In the midst of all the turmoil
the ugly, the useless, the weeds
a little spark of something peeks
reminding me of the fertile seeds

So I hike up my thoughts and kneel down
pulling from our ground all those nasty things
starting over, smoothing our dirt
preparing our bed for Spring

When all the anger and hurt are bygones
the new life has room to grow
Stronger, better, protected from the Winter
Able to withstand the inevitable cold and snow