As she walks around, tiptoeing about,
Judging herself so filled with doubt.
Conform, compress, and pay the dues—
The audience smiles at the pointe shoes.

The air felt warm on a tightened chest,
Urgency excused the hurt she pressed.
Forced to step and leave a mess.

The stage creaked with every leap,
Cracked and crumbled, she let pieces seep.
When souls so kind are forced to break,
the warm air shakes in a state of quake.

Oh, am I the cause of these broken boards?
Or was it rotten wood no one restored?

Toes blistered where the thought fell by
The aching hush of silent cries.
The pointe shoes take their final steps.
She only wished to see the stage rest.

But still, the pieces kept on falling.
It was never her or even the crowd calling.
Oh, it was the rain above and warm summer air
That left the stage in a state of despair.

A soul no longer trapped by the crowd ahead
Or being the cause of the stages death—
Hearts move on to carry other burdens,
How will she think for herself with no more curtains?