Bustin' and a Dronin'

Red rimmed eyes plead with me. That 170 IQ is still there. His pain stabs at me, wildly. Jack the ripper style.
The only word he can muster is a weak, "help." only I can understand. maybe he said something more, but the pain racked body shutters.I tell him his wife is on the phone, that she'll be back. She can read his mind. She knows how to help more then any.
The new nurse is stupid.
She has no real respect for this once great man. Now, I see a fading king, wishing he had a true heir.
Not just a daughter of his sister. My gender has failed him somehow.
A son to kick ass and take names, to leave him a true legacy.
This helpless feeling is the worst, next to the guilt.
The others can turn to Jesus and the bible. Some how, they find comfort there. I was never one to buy in. One son of God? That's crazy. were are all of God. We are all made of stars. pft.
My faith is far older.
I called on all my ancestors, and the universe. A power wiser then a book by man. The power that made these . The things we are all made off. That stuff that scares the weak minded silly. I asked to be given my mind back, to stop hurting long enough to help. To stop being a powerless female, daughter of Eve.
I was told to dance.
Yep, To heal my soul and give me the power to flow into these waves of dread and the face of death.
So I did. And it was good.
My body recalling the joy of movement.
My head filled with magic music.
Bollywood has nothing on me.
Socks on the wood, hips circling, arms snaking , pointing at the cold sky.
The horrors gone and it's us three. Me, my music and the universe.
Arched back, poppin' an' alockin', rolling now, I feel better. In the time it took one song to play out, I am healed. Ready to kick ass and take a few names, and get this circus of a family back into it's cage. Snap the whip above the dragon's head and be the son he wanted, in cute boots.
The pain is not gone, but somehow it's less. I can now deal.