(Assignments related to my Research in Allied Health class can be found under the "So You're Feeling Smart" tab)
Something Inspired by Take Back the Night
This is something hard to write, and I haven’t shared with a lot of people. But I finally think I can stand up and say that I’m taking back the night. :) Here goes….
Taking Back the Night
I was a virgin when I was raped.
He was my first love.
I will never understand.
But he said he did it because he loved me.
Rape is NEVER love. It’s control.
I finally understand that sex is not control.
And love is not sex.
Vice versa.
It took me a long time to understand he was lying.
It also took me a long time to realize I didn’t do anything wrong.
And I finally stopped blaming myself and being ashamed…
Stopped thinking that it happened because of my own ignorance.
I will always hate that he took that first experience from me.
Hate that he ever made me feel ruined and broken.
And hate that I still feel that way sometimes.
But now I’m going to stand up and take back the night.
It doesn’t control me anymore.
It doesn’t define who I am.
I’m not a victim anymore.
I’m a survivor.
And I am proud of who I’ve become.
As I said...I love to dance. Heres a poem I wrote about dancing.
Leos, Tights, and Leg Warmers
Wake up. Shower. Slick my hair back into a bun.
Find the pair of tights to slide on like a second skin.
Debate between black and nude…
Step into a baby blue leotard, stretching my legs out through each hole, pointing my foot and admiring the muscles.
Pull the fabric up to cover my tummy.
Fight with the elasticity to get the straps onto my shoulders, unable for a fraction in time.
Turn around. Look over the cut-out back. Detailed to flatter the back and shoulders of a dancer.
Slide into some shorts to cover my covered, but seemingly bare bottom.
Pick up the fuzzy, textured leg warmers. Start to put them on. Drop them instead, feeling silly to be wearing them in such a warm room.
My mind flashes to minutes from now, feeling my heart race, my skin balmy from moving.
Grab the bag then hit the door.
No second thoughts.
Leave my stress outside. No problems.
Open the door. Take in the brightness of the mirrored room.
Dig through the bag to find shoes.
Stretch. Breathe. Feel the binding of tightened sore muscles. Realizing how good it feels to have that post-dance feeling again.
Spin. Leap. Point. Turn. Chasse. Ball change. Jazz Slide. Split. Breathe.
Freedom. Expression. Feeling. Emotion. Flying. Dreaming and Believing all at once.
Words aren’t words. There are no words. Just. Feelings. Emotions. Dancing.
Limitations. Incapabilities. Holding Back. Pushing. Exhaustion.
Frustration seems too small a word. Boundaries are unnerving. The unknown comforting and magnetic.
Hoping. Laughing. Smiling. Loving. Breathing. Needing. Living.
Living. Dancing. Dance through life. Dancing through the day. Dancing through dreams. Dancing to make it real. Dancing to feel something real.
Then the music stops.
Time for the real world. With words. with lies. without real emotion and movement.
Wait to do it again. Mind lost in the nonverbal world.
Relive every minute, drop the shorts to the ground, re-feel the momentum of every turn, slide the leotard down, re-place every step, peel off the tights slowly…feeling the tiredness of each muscle. Each begging to keep going. Begging not to put jeans on. Begging not to have to sit in hours of classes. Begging to continue working. Begging to burn. Missing the feeling that’s now just a word.