I don't know the name of myself or this place, this cage. Laying on the floor, stretching, I watch this world very closely. Passivity was not something that kept me up at night. My abilitiy to stare my feelings seems perfectly well developed to me, considering how much time I spend doing so. My language, my attitude, seemed to come out in other forms and complete a different whole. Streaming, wide-tipped needles and cross-stitching thoughts into a journal. I'm beginning to tear this journal, I can't write down my thoughts. No, I can't write them down anymore. But, I can dance them. Colors, leotards, winds, set my body free.