Why Do We Dance? Poem by Belle Violet

You don’t
need me
And I don’t need you.
This dance we keep doing,
is just something
we do.
There isn’t a reason,
it’s not contingent
on seasons,
it’s not that it’s logical;
you’d be in
my arms
when it’s a cold day
in Hell.
So,
why do we dance?
You keep my card
from getting filled up,
because I allot all these slots,
I’m desperate you’ll fill.
But It’s never been
your intention
to make any of this
real.
And I’m useful…
I must be…
otherwise, you’d be bored enough
to bash your head
into walls.
And I’d have the opportunity
to be making
better calls.
But you’ve proven
your usefulness
dips below
obsolete;
you don’t know what you’re doing
unless we’re stacked under sheets.
Even then,
It’s debatable.
Your selfishness dictates,
and renders you
hardly capable.
And it'd be folly
to think,
you could take these
moves home;
a woman has to want to
participate,
in order to get
a good rhythm going.
And your partner seems
to have lost her steam.


Well, I don’t feel
like dancing with you
anymore;
I feel like a ball gown
crumpled up
on the floor;
a ball gown
fussed over
just the night
before.

You said once
you thought
we just couldn’t say goodbye.
Sweetheart, I can say it,
without batting
an eye.