The clothes dark,
The floods bright,
The subject grim,
The work, delight.
To reach inside, pull emotion up.
Joy or sorrow, laughter tears,
To unveil talent and provoke fears.
The amazement of the rest of them...
The undeniable proof.
Standing at the stage's edge...
Catching the wave.
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Dedicated to my ninth grade creative writing teacher, Mr. Bunsey, who continually kicked me in the shins, by waving his feet while he sat on top of his desk, and decided, when I submitted my first work, that because I was a non-standard girl, a girl with impairments, that I had to have made it up.
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