my words don't do ballet. they aren't classicly trained to mimic swans.
my words are more like women who close their eyes at clubs and just move. without caring what they look like. or if they sweat. or if they fall off beat for a second.
but moreso..
my words are like cuban women on street corners with runny mascra..the women who catch a faint sound of drums, from far away and start to move their tired hips.
cause cuban women are poetry. and runny mascra tells a story. and tired hips is not spoon feeding you her circumstances. and her dance is more outta hope than talent.