Dancing On My Own

Yeah I know it’s stupid,
But I just got to see it for myself.

So go ahead, watch the video.



I’m in the corner, watching you kiss her, oh, oh, oh.
I’m right over here, why can’t you see me? Oh, oh, oh.
I’m givin’ it my all, but I’m not the girl you’re takin’ home, ooh, ooh, ooh.
I keep dancin’ on my own.

* * * * *

Aside from humor, my coping mechanism is music—and with it, dancing.

I also have this masochistic streak in me, this desire to punish myself by wanting to know for certain if, indeed, there is no hope for me with a guy. Yeah, I know it’s stupid, but I just got to see it for myself.

And more than several times I found myself in one corner, watching as someone else was kissing him. And he never would see me.

So I keep dancing on my own.

Damn it. This song is piercing.

So what do I do? I dance to it. Alone. Maybe by owning it, it loses its power over me.

(Yeah I know it’s stupid. But I just got to see it for myself.)