Dancer

On my arm
I have a dancer;
colorful and bright.
She'll twirl, laugh and smile
Glowing even at night.

Sometimes, if I'm not careful,
she'll get washed away
but someone always draws her back
onto my arm the next day.

Once in a while
she'll be covered by my sleeve.
Hiding from a rebuke
to her outrageous gaiety.

Pull it back and you'll find,
smiling up at you,
her ever changing, expressive face,
looking for your dancer to.

Everyone has a dancer,
otherwise they'd be quite dull.
Acting simply as robots,
a quiet shell, a hull.

Next time you meet someone,
don't be polite and bland.
Try to find their tiny dancer
on a leg, chest or hand.