In her town she is called the Conspirator, the Queen of Cups, the Blazing Lady of Salsa, La Despedida, and a thousand other names by those who wonder. She looks like all things to all people, and once she was---but now this hollow, transgressor, wants to be no one's trouble but her own. She is an artist, a poet, a dancer, and a siren. She has dreams that are too illicit to speak of---her life is like a poem only fit to be read by a stranger.
in the desert, rambling
In her town she is called the Conspirator, the Queen of Cups, the Blazing Lady of Salsa, La Despedida, and a thousand other names by those who wonder. She looks like all things to all people, and once she was---but now this hollow, transgressor, wants to be no one's trouble but her own. She is an artist, a poet, a dancer, and a siren. She has dreams that are too illicit to speak of---her life is like a poem only fit to be read by a stranger.
in the desert, rambling
Dance, when you’re broken open. Dance, if you’ve torn the bandage off. Dance in the middle of the fighting. Dance in your blood. Dance when you’re perfectly free.
Rumi (via rosegypsie)
