I live next door,
To a ballerina,
I hear music all day,
And see lights on all night,
It doesn’t bother me,
For we are good friends,
I knew her forever,
Even as a child,
Sometimes I see her,
From my bedroom window,
Dancing like her life depends on it,
Only, it really does,
She moves,
With such grace,
Delicately on her toes,
As if it was easy,
She glances out her window,
Sees me staring,
Flashes a smile,
As if everything was okay,
But I too knew her too well,
To fall for that lie,
I looked at her long and hard,
And now I see why,
Beads of sweat,
Fell down her forehead,
Her legs shook,
As she did a developpe,
Her face was pained,
Strong hint of confusion,
Yet she smiled away,
As if she wasn’t hurting,
She was beautiful,
She could pass as a goddess,
But if you looked closely,
You could see she wasn’t flawless,
Her ever-so-fake smile,
Is what gave her away,
And the shine in her eyes,
Was simply the tears kept inside
Just when I thought,
It was a trick of the light,
She tripped and fell down,
Into a puddle of her own tears,
I didn’t know,
What to do,
Should I climb out my window?
Or leave her in pain?
One thought was dominant,
And it was neither of either,
I screamed just enough,
For her to hear,
She looked up,
And cried once again,
I asked her what was wrong,
Was everything okay?
She said it wasn’t,
As she walked towards her window,
And then did I see her body,
As thin as a straw,
She told me her story,
Everyone was screaming at her,
They said she was pathetic,
Useless in so many ways,
She said she agreed,
They were telling the truth,
She was too fat to be beautiful,
Too fat to dance,
That’s when it hit me,
It explained so much,
She had a disorder,
Anorexia nervosa,
I told her the truth,
While her body shook,
I shook my head and said,
“It’s going to be okay,
My little ballerina”
She smiled, and left.
I do ballet,
I write ballet.