I dance,
Because I have to.

For the love of dance?
Hell no.
For the love of the examiner.

My teacher's words,
Screaming constantly into my ears.
What I was doing was wrong,
I would never get points for that.

Smile, not for the audience,
But because the examiner doesn't like
Glum faces.

Oh whatever happened,
To the true meaning of Dance?

I don't know.
It's gone,
just like my happiness,
and hopes,
of being better.

My jumps are not filled with beauty,
but sweat.
My pointe work does not look amazing;
It looks tiresome.

Is there ever going to be a day,
When exams don't matter?
No.
Never.
It will forever count
As my life.

People think I have a choice-
I don't.

I can't dance without being judged;
Heck, dancing is nothing without judgement.
Beg for mercy?
Never.
I'm not weak.

Yes, ballet, to me, is like war
Between me and my teacher,
or maybe me and everyone who thinks otherwise.

I'm nearing my Waterloo,
but I won't surrender yet.

But, maybe I have.

I have been brainwashed.
All I want now is good grades.
A distinction.

I don't love dance,
I do it for everyone else who does.

If you look closely,
You can see my tiresome face,
but soulless eyes.

No one understands,
what I’m trying to say,
so I stop trying.

Yes, I've given up.

I don't dance for myself,
I dance for the examiner.