I Don’t Want to Dance

“I’d like to dance.”
The words could be
Nothing more
Than conversational.
But the glint in your eye
Hints at the words
That will not leave your smiling lips.
You expect me to say, “yes,
I want to dance too,”
Then grab your hand
And pull you out to the dance floor
Where maybe we’ll waltz
Or twirl together.

But I don’t feel like dancing.

My feet ache from these shoes
The ones I put on to impress you.
And as much as I do want
So badly to impress you,

I do not want to dance.

But how do I express this
When these shoes are worn
Specifically to please your eyes,
When you can look at me and know
How much I like you?
So I “umm” and “uhh”
And I search for excuses,
Too nervous to look
Into your expectant eyes.
At last the thought hits me:
You think I want this too,
And you will not know otherwise
Unless I tell you so.
The words leave my lips,
“I don’t want to dance tonight.”
You smile, but my blood runs cold
At the sight of it.
You take my hand and say,
“We both know that’s a lie.”
On the dance floor
We are spinning.
Nausea rushes to my throat
I say we have to stop.
Again, you smile
Then shake your head.
“I noticed your shoes.
Would you not have worn them
If you did not want to dance?”
So I accept my fate,
My feet trying desperately
To keep up with the tempo.
All I wanted
Was to let him see me at my best,
Maybe see me as beautiful,
But he is right.
If I wanted him to like me,
I should have been prepared
To do anything,
Even what I was not ready to do.


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