The music
sweeps through me,
like the ocean water’s pulse
against the rocks,
and I feel the need to
know you,
touch you,
be you,
entirely.
I feel the need to express you,
exalt you,
show you to the world.
You are my escape,
my freedom,
my one true love.
You are poetry of the feet,
a song sung through
my body,
my soul,
I play your strings forever.
You lift me up,
grand jeté,
tour jeté,
cabriole,
pas de chat,
I fly on the wings of your movement.
But love does not come,
without pain,
and toil,
and suffering,
and you, my darling, are no exception.
You tear me down,
sharp knives slicing down my shoulders,
icy fingers ripping
my muscles
to shreds,
blood streaming,
bruises flowering,
into a garden of black and blue.
I ache all over,
red-hot irons
stinging my feet,
searing my bones,
but strengthening me.
I am a fighter because of you.
I feel you,
in the deepest sense.
I feel your anger,
your despair,
your bliss,
your love.
You rush through me,
choreography streaming through my fingertips,
and make me show your emotions
to the world.
I leap,
I spin,
I suffer,
I break free.
You have made me
into me.
Hana Tzou is a dancer, a poet, a coffee addict, a city girl, a future English major, the one you go to with homework questions, someone who puts pink raincoats on her beagle, the grammar police, a candle connoisseur, the Queen of Sestinas, and a chopstick master. She doesn’t like being called “Hannah” and loves to procrastinate AP homework by writing. You can find her work in Stone Soup, Teen Ink, Germ Magazine, and elsewhere.