Moving is losing the voice that tells me I can't in a joyous flow of steps
It doesn't have to make sense
There are no thoughts, only pulsing impulses
I'm giving myself to them, letting them rip through me
Spinning, pounding, slipping, moving, slowly, quickly
The driving need to find the next place to be my sanctuary
Escape, oasis, my reality
Away from fear and doubts, cries of all that's lost
My pocket of peace, where all I have to do is be
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