Choreographer

I watch the steps
Of the person next to me,
That I might have a clue
Of what I’m supposed to do,
But the steps they take
Do not align
With the signs
You show to me—

They twist when I pause,
They step when I spin,
And in the din
I wonder if I’m hearing right.

But as I follow where you show
I see that our individual moves
Weave a flow
Where beauty glows,
And I know that you’re the artist,
Guiding us where we should go—
As each of us
Has felt your touch,
We move in perfect time
To the song that you designed,
And every part that we each play
Is beautiful in its own way.

Roles

The porcelain mold
Look gorgeous,
With a perfectly painted face
And a perfectly shaped shell
So perfectly designed
To hide
My weaknesses.

Standing in the perfect place
To attract the eyes of many—
All I have to do
Is slip inside,
To form my body to the shape
Of the perfect porcelain mold,
And I am guaranteed
The admiring looks
Of a broken world.

But inside the shell
I am not free
To dance
To the music
That stirs my heart;
I must stand
In rigid conformity,
Bound by the rules
Of a perfect life.

I choose instead
To cast off the image;
My weaknesses may look ugly,
But at least they’re real.
I would rather look the fool
Dancing free with Jesus
Than be the porcelain doll
Tightly bound
In a perfectly painted shell.