Not A Dancer Poem by Joan Hart

I never learned the steps
to this particular dance
I am a wallflower-
watching.
Curious how
the couples waltz
some effortlessly gliding,
graceful in the other's arms
missing a beat now and then,
but still
beautiful.
Others
are desperate in their movements,
stepping on toes
fumbling around
wearing painted smiles
as beads of sweat gather.
Such hard work
this dance can be
On the rare occasion
I am asked to dance,
it's always the same.
For a fleeting moment,
I feel as though
my heart will grow wings
and soar.
But soon, I stumble
fall
and crawl off of the dance floor shamefully,
licking my wounds.
Back to cowering in my corner
watching.
All the while wondering
if maybe I was never meant
to dance at all.