QotD: My Autobiography

What would the title of your autobiography be?
Submitted by princesskasren.

Smile A Lil Bit (And Frown A Little Less)

or

Dance Till You're Dead

The opening lines of which might be...

Cody's spinnin' club bangers and, of course, I'm dancing. I kept it easy as my dance partner did several versions of the same move, hitting none of the beats as she smiled and fumbled around, ever a threat to bump into those around us.

She leaned over and whispered in my ear, "I know you're thinkin' to yourself that this white girl can't dance."

Yup. Exactly. But that doesn't matter, ma, I can dance enough for the both of us.

or

All I want is one dance, one long dance. Sweat and freedom and hips and rhythm. No irony. No wry smiles. No bullshit comedy routines. Just gimme the dance. Let me let go. Let me hold you here at your hips. Let me rock when you rock, roll when you roll. You can bounce when I bounce. Shake when I shake.

or

The sounds of Fela Kuti's Afrobeat, a style he created, is filling my world up, my senses, my soul. As this music plays -- it's funk and jazz blended with traditional Nigerian root music and these contemporary artists singing or rapping above it -- I know, without a doubt, that I am both African and American. I feel this music at my core. My limbs and joints jut and sway in ways that should be foreign to me, unnatural. It's not the way I have ever danced before. It is unlike any of the music videos I've watched, performances I've seen, styles I've mimicked. It feels right though, so right, as if it is from something other than what I know. It is from what I am.

It smells like outside when I close my eyes. I smell dirt and foliage, water and animals. I hear the rustle of wind, I see dark faces, I want to run just for the joy of running. I also sense the strain of hearts, the toil of work and strife, the fear of government. I smell it. Revolution. I want it. I want to pick up a rock. I want to throw it at that man with the gun. I want to grab that politician with the fake smile and the suit and the lies. I want to scream "Liar! Can't you see we are dying here?!" I want to demand what we need. I want health care. I want food. I want water. I want to be free. To be Free. TO BE FREE. I want to run just for the joy of running.

But I have stones and you have guns. If I get guns, you will have tanks. And money. And power. AND POWER AND MONEY. And, I can scream. And I can yell. And I can fight. Revolution! But will it matter? I see their faces. They are scared. They just want to live. They just want to be without pain. And if we fight, it will bring the pain. Oh, the pain will come because you have money and power and bigger guns. They tell me not to do this. Our children will die. Our parents will die. We will die. You will die. And we won't be safe. And it will be worse. "What is worse than living in fear?" I ask. "What is worse than living without freedom?" I may die. But I will not die afraid.

REVOLUTION!

I just want to run for the joy of running. For the joy of life. For the joy of me.

Red. Hot. Riot.

I'll dance till I'm dead. And then I'll dance some more.