I can dance in the room of uniform

I can rest my forehead on an arm bound in geometrically stitched sweater, while imprints of repetition dent my skin.

I can stare down past a marked desk to a floor imperfectly scuffed through square uniform tiles, as my eyes trace each nuance.  

I can follow the leg of a chair with my eyes to see the same pattern of nature’s lines in treated wood, not specialized from a mass production.  

I can sit and lean forward in a room where an entire hallway is doing the same.

I can turn and glance into a mirror of similar dimension to four hundred.

I can write on a page of paper with the same blue measured lines from any other book of college ruled determinism.

I can walk the same path that was beaten down and torched by too many before.

I can repeat the same history that has pounded the shape of today,

Or I can dance in the room of uniform. 

      Original poetry by Erin Thomas