like the violin

Oh, the Seattle blues -

- I felt like a feather tonight, but not as fleeting; I am not vague nor undecided, I am solid, one body, one movement, chains of movements, dancing. Still I am a feather.

Compared to years and years of feeling fat (although I never was), this lightness is heaven; this acceptance of my body and my weight the way it is, this new way of being, dancing, living - because I have the right to it, this space, I do not take up too much. The floor is mine, I own it, it belongs to my feet and through my feet my whole body. I used to wish I was neat. I have longed for pretty, secretly. I don't need that anymore. I'd rather be colorful, outrageous than meek. I will never be one of the pretty girls, not as long as it means what it means today: it means eye candy only; silent, well-mannered eye candy. I have too much to say to be pretty. Cute girls do not sparkle like I do.

It has happened that leaders have made it difficult for me, they've let things slip, without meaning to hurt me of course, but nevertheless - "I'd like to take the aerials class with M because she's light" - what does that make me other than heavy? But no, I am not heavy. They were wrong to say these things. I am light as a feather tonight, but not fleeting; comfortable in my skin, in my body, with my weight. This is me. Every part of my body is dancing.