A Hippy’s Song

March 1, 2011

I’m feeling a bit poetic, at the moment. So, the following will be in the rhythm of a poem, but it’s not quite one. And no, it will not rhyme. I’m bad with rhyming, believe it or not. And it won’t be in a line-by-line format as poems usually are. But, I’m going to title it like a poem and it is an “artistic” expression of my current thoughts and emotions, with the song “Mystline” by Nujabes playing in my mind’s ear. Feel free to skip this one, if you’re not interested. I promise, this is my first and last time I will care to share my poetic side. ;-)

One song, the same notes that I have been dancing to, starting at the age of a little girl. A melody found within the playful mind of a child, who was once happy with the state of just being. Without worry or the outside voices of the world weighing in. Happy, naked, and free. And without wanting it to, unprepared and unprotected, I was pushed out into the harshness of cold streets. Standing on bare feet, surrounded by unforgiving towering dark steel, of dirty concrete and soot-covered windows. Still, I held onto the song and the dance, too stubborn to let go of memories of the green soft grass that I had once stood on. Nor would I lose my grip of the musical notes within my head. I continued to dance on sharp gravel, discarded cigarette butts, and beer bottles shards. No matter how much it cuts into my soles, I dance, too stubborn and too afraid to let go of the innocence that belongs to me. It’s mine, I found it fair and square! But am I free?

They tried to bound me and tried to break my legs, so that I could not spin anymore.  They beat me in every inch of my body, spirit, and mind. And when they grew tired, I took up the  slack and continued to beat myself. I fell down a million times, by their hands and by my own, and I had stopped dancing for a while. On and off,  in long stretches of time, crumpled on the cold and dirty ground. The song still playing in my mind, taunting me when I wanted desperately to quit, taunting me to keep moving, to get back on my wounded feet and fractured legs, to dance again. And I did dance again. Am I free?

I need so much. I yearn for a real family connection. I miss my best friend. I crave the arms of a lover that I have not yet met and I miss the faces of my unborn children. I am dancing my way through life alone, my world cluttered with the knickknacks and keepsakes of the people, places, and things that I had once tried my curiosity in. My brave but often failing attempts to find my space, in one way or another. I am searching for that space still, that final keepsake, the place of where I truly belong in this world. A spot to dance, to be free in, to be left unharmed, as is, to stretch out and grow in. I haven’t found that place yet, but I’m still dancing to my song, moving until I find that soft grass again. Am I free?

The demons of my past are slowly sliding away from my shoulders, with every shuffle. I fall down, but I struggle back up again, trying to keep in time with the rhythm in this eternal conga line. I don’t know where I am. I am lost. This song is playing, unrelenting, urging me to move on. Don’t stop! I am so tired of this cold harsh ground digging into my skin. My feet are growing numb. But, I can’t stop. I don’t want to stop! This is who I am and I can only be me. I can’t be you. I can only be me! Where am I? Am I anywhere close to being free?

I know that I will never dance on center stage, in front of an adoring crowd, of people that can relate to my movements or appreciate my struggles. But, I don’t dance for fame or money, anyhow. I dance because I have to, I dance because if I stop, my soul will cease to exist. So, I’ll dance in the dark alleys, the wayward paths, the abandoned doorways of the city. With or without an audience, in light and shadow. Am I free?

I’ll keep dancing, as far and as long as my legs will allow it. And when my legs quit, I’ll move my arms to beat. And when my arms die, I’ll bob my head. And when I’m no longer able to bob my head, I’ll hum the notes. And when I can’t do that anymore, I’ll listen to the music in my head, for as long as I can…

I’m not free, yet.




  1. Wow! What a wonderful piece of writing. Beautiful and full of soul. Sorrowfull but interwoven with hope and strength. Please don’t let this be the only piece that you share with us, or write. I for one, want more

    • Ah, I’m blushing! lol! Thanks,Purplecatus! :-)

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