Step by step,
With a gorgeous plié,
Kick some pep
Into a battement jeté.

A toy brought to life
During a winter dream,
Wining a mice fight,
Becoming king and queen.

Graceful and white,
Perfection is seized,
A swan's flight,
Applause from the pleased.

All these to treasure,
To hope for, but first
Have the right measures
And break the weight curse.

Do not eat much
And practice all day,
Have the right touch,
Get that perfect cambré.

Pointe for pain
And chukkers for luck,
Just hide those blood stains
And redefine pluck

When all the joints hurt
And toes can't be touched,
When all one has heard
Is Tchaikovsky's crutch...

So proceed and endure,
Feel pain and relief,
Prokofiev's pitch contour
To be ones only belief.

Let all this be forgotten
When the curtains rise
And show all this works gotten
Perfection for a prize.

As I gaze into the world
I see more than eyes can see
There’s a beauty flowing surely
Through hidden veins within each soul
My own beating heart cannot escape
That special blood that burns for transparency
All it takes is the clarity of a simple step
To break out the confined colors of my spirit
Looking in the mirror, I see a fleeting image
It holds little weight as I grasp it for a moment
I only tune it for the grander picture
My physicality renders itself to my heart’s will
The warmth in a precious moment
Revives my inspiration for today
But my artistic passion has a hunger
That I feel so strong but can't be quenched
So, for this love I continue seeking
To even further depths of who I am
I always find a different place to unlock
And set myself free to sing the imprisoned song
Dance is the hidden language of my soul
That I must express with every measure of me
It’s who I was, who I am, who I’ll always be
If I should stifle the flame and fall silent
It’s like the sweetest dream that was never dreamed
Like a dire prayer without the faith to be prayed
Like a true love that wouldn’t be sacrificed for
Like an anguished tear that wasn’t allowed to fall
Though I must nurture and understand this voice
Before I let it go and the first chord is rung
Courage and vulnerability need melding together
As a tool forged in brokenness not perfection
Pain is just an old friend that holds my hand
Strengthening while reminding me of my humanity
When frustration winds itself around me
I won’t be hindered in pursuing higher goals
I know that no symphony can carry on forever
I only hope that what I create and leave behind
Is a clear, beautiful melody amidst the world’s complexity
That shows how meaningful and worthwhile is the journey
To be a dancer

She took the part
That broke her heart
And soon would take her life

But the pirouettes
Help her forget
She's dancing on a knife

She dances,
Alone.
In such grace and poise
Positioned in between the tallest buildings
And she poses
For the camera
The bright flashes

Or on stage
In the spotlight
Twirling and twisting
Not a hair out of place
Not a step out of line
Not a breath unplanned

Trained to be accurate
Self destructing, but so well collected
The most beautiful dancer the world has ever seen.

I woke up one day
The end of my bed,
A jewelry box
Pink as the ribbon they used to represent her;
I traced over her disappearing fingertips
The rim of the box clicked open,
It clicked to life
The music tickling my ears;
A plastic ballerina stands as a guardian
Hands in the air
Waiting for someone to join her,
Twirling around like my eyes that follow her,
To see we are all alone

She was not interested in what was obvious
Her ego required nuance and sophistication
A life devoted to a cause will die with it
For what is achievement without a fragile peace?

Though the tide comes and goes, what lingers,
glistening post cards, confounding swimmer and
marine life alike, becomes the current and not
where the moon may ****** itself in the night

Applause in the middle of her dance of love
will not lift her spirits; to them, she has made
love to them and to her she has only found herself
for a brief moment while they became the ocean

She could never believe life was like that; art only
interested the patrons in this way, but her dancing
was not about what they would imagine was
perfect in her heart; only that it was not; it was not

The release of birds from the hands of those who
cried over their captivity was not of liberation, but
instead of shoes that required no hand or mind to
place them where nature intended them to be

She was unable to fixate upon comfort without pause
Life was anger and sadness that a smile knew too well
It was in her moment of triumph that tragedy met her eyes
And as her heart died she became the fantasy they paid for

"It takes guts to be kind and gentle."

~Theres a difference between being kind and acting as a doormat.

Being a doormat literally welcomes people to walk over you.~