You quiet little sufferer
Don't speak a word
Make not a peep
Never ask for help
Don't be a burden

How is it that
what I am most afraid of
is what I crave most?

Don't touch me,
For I shall surely shatter and break.
✠ ✠ ✠ ✠ ✠ ✠ ✠
Please,
Break me,
Shatter me anyway.

I see you without her,
Your arm limp where she used to be.
If you need someone to keep you warm,
Please let it be me.

It's hard to hate someone
When they are so nice.

don't pity me
for my misfortune
nor question my
happy boredom
you need not understand
my joy at your upperhand

I'm too short
I'm too tall
I just wish my height
Didn't matter at all

I push you away
But I want you to stay.

names and words
called and thrown
like you know her at all
with your hate and scorn
think you can see right through
her 'shallow, fake persona'
she is worn
more than you could know
she has been damaged broken
yet continues to grow
she is more than that word
that name, that label
you smother her with in disgust
she is complex, an individual
you are nothing but dust

How do you know you're real
When it's so hard to feel?

This is when she can become herself.
Not anyone special.
No one famous.
She is not anyone at times like this.
Just her.
Moving in ways never to be understood.
Defying gravity with her shoes.
The children call them Magic Shoes.
The world moves because she tells it to.
She needs no one.
Her only companion is the music.
She likes it this way.
They become one.
She is music, the music is her.
They are a blur of color and sound.
The music is the most beautiful rainbow.
It dances across the space.
It is the spot light.
Enhancing her.

Her problems fade.
There is no war, no disease, no hate, her mother is not dying.
The floor is far beneath her, the people are far below, too far to touch.

Comparisons are not able to be made here.
She is fierce with power and passion.
The one place she is strong.
Most would crave praise in such a place.
But no applause is necessary.
Her Magic Shoes send all the feedback she needs in their echoes.
Energy races though her body.
But by watching you can not taste it the way she tastes it.
She can not help but grin.
She feels unstoppable.
She is captive to the music.

Her feet have grown to the Magic Shoes.
They are intertwined.
There are blisters and cuts.
Sweat, and blood.
It is all part of the game.
They are a small price to pay.
They fade away as she continues.
She flows effortlessly.
She is nothing.
No one.

Elegantly she can float.
She floats like the feathers the ducks leave behind in the river.
Like the toy rafts they used to make.
She is reborn here.
The mock titles given to her fall away.
No longer is she plain, boring.
No judgement can linger.
Harsh words are gone.
Time does not exist.
No one can torment her here.
She can not bully herself.

Being in the Magic Shoes she is calm.
When she puts on the Magic Shoes the world changes from a dull grey place of monotone sounds.
What is felt are the colors here.
The sounds.
She feels joy.
Purple.
Birds chirping.
Strength.
Green.
A downpour.
Weightlessness.
Yellow.
An opera.
Excitement.
Red.
The hushed hum of a distant helicopter.
The music is so loud it is not heard.
Only felt.
Music is her favorite emotion.

The floor hurts.
This is the only moment her trance ends.
Falling.
She is broken.
Bent out of shape.
It is the source of her imperfections.
She can not be a professional.
Her bones are wrong.

I will never be a ballet dancer.