Spasticasia – When you dance like a drunken koala

I’ve decided to write a poem for anyone else suffering from the condition known as Spasticasia. Well, it’s known to me as that. Most people know it as having two left feet, or dancing like a drunken koala.


Dancing Fool

Can’t find the rhythm

Can’t find the beat

Can’t even find

My own two feet


Flailing my arms

Like they’re on fire

Twisting my waist

Like it’s stuck in a tire


Bump and grind

Becomes bump and trip

If I’m not careful

I’ll just up and slip


No I’m not dying

It’s just how I flow

Don’t dial 911

Just get on with the show


Misjudged a kick

Hit someone’s shin

That’s my signal

The night’s come to an end


All in all

I had a good time

You say my dancing’s bad

I say it’s sublime!


I’m sure this poem will speak to the hearts of all those with a bad case of Spasticasia, whether chronic or applied. (Applied Spasticasia is also known as bad dancing brought on by massive alcohol consumption. I happen to have both conditions.) Whenever you flail your limbs at a nightclub or a school dance, remember that you are the dancing equivalent of a stick figure. And stick figures are awesome! Embrace your lack of rhythm, for you are free… free from the bonds of tempo and pace. You no longer even dance to beat of your own drummer, as you killed that drummer and replaced it with a drunken otter smashing a rock on its head.

Dance on, all you flailers and trippers. Dance like there’s no tomorrow! (Seriously, if you pretend the world’s about to end, the panic greatly increases your Spasticasic movements.)