By Arinda duPont
If you stop the dancing girl, and stare into her eyes
you can see they are red and puffy from crying all the time.
For all her whirls and twirls,
and carefree spins
there are tremors in her hands.
If you can watch her long enough you might realize
that she is not dancing,
but trembling, silently weeping, spinning out of control
“I write because I don’t know who I am without writing.” – the writer