22

I move through the room with arms outstretched,
hoping someone will take my hand and match my steps.
I offer the rhythm in my chest, a song no one hears.
Others beckon with bright eyes,
but when I reach them,
their hands tug me into spirals I don’t know,
leaving me dizzy and breathless,
stumbling to keep up with the beat I never chose.
Their dance is not mine,
and when I try to lead,
they slip away,
their music fading into the murmur of the crowd.
I am left alone,
again,
feet shuffling to the echo of a dance no one else wants to learn,
my hands open,
waiting.