Fear, anguish, deception, and pain all marked the reality of a family divided and a child broken. Within the hollow walls of my skull were feelings of separation, hatred, doubt, and guilt. As a child with the screams of my protector and the absence of trust in the household, life was a black cloud. Who am I? Who do I want to be? Does love exist? If so, who loves me? I found refuge in an empty room, hardwood floors, a full-sized reflection staring back at me, and a tiny box that poetically sang of the pain, fear, and societal depression that I was feelings deep within my core, hidden behind thick walls of happiness and contentment.
Children are often inadvertently taught to fear monsters, work hard in school, respect adults, and stay active. They are expected to need help and to be involved with teams and groups that will enhance their futures, not leaving much room for them to grow personally as individuals. As a child I was rushed from school to soccer, to home, and to me this was normal. Parents fighting in the middle of the night made fear a familiar face, but as a child I believed everything was okay since my parents were supposed to be my protectors and would never harm me. Although this was a clear misunderstanding, I found my voice as I entered adolescence. Who am I? I am a poet of movement, a bright young woman, torn and broken, but pieced together by the swift movements that my body produces when the music hits my eardrums.
I am choreographically a genius. Every bend, kick, and leap expresses a new emotion. The world is my dance floor and my angles, turns, pops, and locks create a story, an insight into what is me. Life in my eyes is a pirouette, as much as it wants to keep spinning, without momentum, drive, and heart I fall out. While in that empty room I seem to reach emotional equilibrium, anything is possible and with a swift kick the shackles of insecurity, pain, fear, and brokenness is released. At time tears may fall, but I regain composure as the beat picks up. Art is my doctor and dance is my prescription. Three minutes and thirty seconds marks the duration of my piece, all anguish is expelled on the floor and a whole being is able to march triumphantly into a broken world. My immunity declares death to negativity, anger, and despair. Reality has set in! My title is not broken; it is dancer, artist, and poet. This is me; I am who I am because of who I choose to be!

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