There's a girl who spins flips and cartwheels across my mind. 

It's the last pass across the floor in her routine 
and she's giving it her all.  

The feat seems impossible, but her body is trained for this.  

All of what's inside, erupting out in power, strength, freedom, abandon.  

When everything is tight and pressed down, everything holding her down like a spider's victim. 

Then, there she goes.  

As she flies she is free.  
She is wild.  
She is agony and peace.  
Confusion shaken out and drained. 
Oppression confronted and discarded, spinning off her with her sweat.  
She is strange.  
She is beautiful.  

As she lands it with precision she knows it won't be her last pass. Because the twisting inside won't stop.  She wants to go on until she snaps.  Until her control is spun out and what's wild remains.   

There's a girl who spins flips and cartwheels across my mind.