We are dance-makers who grapple with what it means to be feminine, sexual, and powerful.
I get that fire boiling your gut, vibrating your insides so that the first word to come out slices through the throat of the opposition. You wish to silence their ignorance. How dare you hold so much space in my house? Squishing my resilience into the corner between the outlet and the lamp missing its bulb. You think you can both electrify me and cover my mouth. But, they are a reflection of us; we cut through their throats to silence our shame, our guilt. We are not innocent, or alone. But, we move. We vibrate and thrust and find our way into the mud, thick and viscous, smelling of our own shit. And, that stench pushes us to rebel.