RANDOM DON'T HAVE TIME TO TALK NEED TO GO BYE BYE I DON'T OWN DEXTER OR DEE DEE OR WHATEVER JUST GOTTA GO I HOPE YOU ENJOY BYE.
Dancing is her passion.
Her shoes are her stage. She needs no flashing lights to know she on display, in the limelight.
The limelight is her home.
It is her happy place.
If eyes are not on her, she dances to her own audience.
If hands do not clap for her, she hears her own cheering.
If smiles do not meet her, she smiles her own encouragement.
If the mirror does not please her with what it presents her with, a technique done wrong or a spin looking awkward in its twirl.
If a song does not play for her performance, she makes the music in the minds of others with her body, painting the notes and chords in their imaginations until they hear an orchestra.
If they do not like her, she does not care.
She does any encore for any request, until she cannot feel her legs beneath her and she is floating, not dancing.
She dances until she is an angel on gossamer wings.
Her movements are her escape.
Her feet are the tools of her creation, an artist's canvas or a writer's paper and pen.
What most people need dictionaries and degrees in English to describe she tells without a word.
She needn't words to share a story of pain.
Happiness.
Fear.
Lust.
Danger.
Risk.
Betrayal.
And a happy ending.
A pair of eyes' expressive cores is her costume.
Dancing is her escape.
Do not take it away from her.