seal up the crevices in my chest.
take me under and into another mind.
lift my chin to a spotlight and unburden my eyes.
birth giggle eruptions and the electric joy in movement.
settle my feet flat on a stage, ready to shimmy.
allow me access to that other woman that breathes fire.
reclaim a no-I-do-it-this-way stance on performance.
inspire me to support the pop culture pieces I find so vital.
take said pop culture pieces and repaint them with a queer lens.
become the modern gentleman who may pelvic thrust but pant poetry.
focus on a back wall, lose anxiety to the bright white light and dark-edged beat.
pretend to be a seducer, a wooer, a-toss-of-hair-and-I-have-you.
challenge my concept of my body, its limitations, its possibilities, its beauty.
dedicate, such as in poem, intense energy to a matter of three or more minutes.
bury the burning in my bones (a la post-tattoo) that craves more, more, more.
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