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Maria Mitea May 2021
on that day
she performed the dance
in a mortal silence

lustful intensity,

the unusual
exit with the back
was hiding her face
without any wave of hope,
the eyes
where
seeking consolation,
her spine
became alive
like a tempting serpent,
arms
were wavy wings
a cry for help,
legs outstretched
like two cello strings
rising
under the guidance
of internal forces,

the pirouettes
faked
with a great talent
the lack of courage,
as a sacrifice brought to the air
she kept doing
dozens of rotations
as if
the body
was anointed
with the dark air,

then,

it fell into its arms
like a wet coat,

every movement
spoke
again and again
"I love you
and
I hate you",

sun rays
died
in a light
that bowed obediently
under  the public eyes
riveted
like a forest
of frozen trees,
waiting for
what's next
Tribute to one of the best world”s ballerinas Maya Plitseskaya!
Juno Feb 2021
There’s a specific rhythm to dancing
which only a dancer knows.
The thrill of a strong jump,
or a good pointing of the toes.

A tap of pointe shoes on the floor
where usually sounds a thunk,
or the success of a hard spin
when you thought you’d run out of luck.
daphne Feb 2021
little balerina
glides gracefully with ease
the soles of her feet bleed
but her smile aimed to please

little balerina
each twirl immortalized her
prancing around me like magic
everything she does is a blur

little balerina
i can see her smile wavering
as she dances with such splendour
around a truth she's been denying

little ballerina
such a beautiful form of art
but it's time she accepted now
an end that broke her heart
inspired by an old picture of my grandmother in her tutu and a wide, toothless smile
Theanm Ankh Jan 2021
It was funny how
Before her summer of fourteen
Her life became
A longing dream
Small waist,
Big hips,
Double Ds,
Thigh gap,
An hourglass.
E, t, c.
This was her list and the time,
Time
Tick---
Tick---
Ticked away like grains of sand and salt
The scale reads one five zero.

She had a
Banana for breakfast, just one:
Yellow and clammy,
The way her skin had become and yet it was
Cool and smooth to the touch.
Milky. Like that dancer's dying eyes
After the teacher had told her to drop a few pounds.
Well, now she hangs a few pounds.
Just for a few pounds.
Toes pointed perfectly.

Do you like
How she floats now?
Are her little freckled arms
Light at her sides now?
Angelic, you wanted, and angel you now have.
Held up by a halo of rope around her 14-year-old throat.
I hope you still get a chance to watch her dance from hell.
xander Dec 2020
through a silver thread our love is intertwined, leaning on the edge of a silver knife and the nape of a man you once loved, much can be undone.

such unearthly love they’ll say, much like the lines on your weathered forehead. The end is nigh, like a loose string hanging around your frail neck, bonds made to be never broken.

hand in hand, the traveling jeans of downtown abbey, such a compromise aristocrats could not bear to lose.

In the old days it was enough, card games and slow dancing in the dark, tasting much of the old stored in the cellar, spirits and conservative values alike.

but can much be said, when the raging of the dying of the light is proved useless? spinning, we can’t sit still, advertised in blue skies, our young blood must’ve been shed.

idealism and passion sits idle, in a prison, a prison we call home. shackled by sandy shores, the foundations of this earth are restrained, like the rose petals that fall from your lips.

twirling and twirling, grace and femininity indoctrinated from young, much can be undone.
Carlo C Gomez Oct 2020
Out of touch with the ground
I walk a thin line

I am in lonely equilibrium
A broken umbrella

Swinging to-and-fro
On this trapeze

Coming untethered
From these elapsing heart strings

New love's dividing line
Depends upon its precise timing

Port de bras
The illusion of imponderable lightness

Take a leap of faith
Reach out for me
Lily Sep 2020
Waves cleave the cliffs
The birds ride the wind
The night fills the soul
I cleave to you

The sand polishes the toes
***** tango in the sand
Stars perform ballet in the black
The fire sparks against the stillness

Waves cleave the cliffs
The birds ride the wind
The night fills the soul
I cleave to you
another product of my English class
Nikitaa Sep 2020
My eyes become windows
Words the door
My lips devour his
So does his soul

My tears splashing
His an agony of pain
My scars cut his inside
Screams of my blood rain

My vision screams death
Aflame by his eyes
My blood drips away
His teeth nibble my skin alive

My nose built of sequins
Estranged against his snout
My cries build up ballet
His just vain around

**** my soul dead enough
Grave my wounds raw
Nail me to the desolate
Love yours ,  I don't crave!
-Nikitaa
Lorena Mar 2020
i’ve used three poems worth of words trying to describe you
to capture you
cos that’s what i do
try to capture things...
feelings, emotions, memories
chasing little things on the wind

and actually i think it is a good thing that i can’t write you down
because the things that i capture -
they’re pretty. but they’re pinned down
and there’s something ironic about a butterfly in a glass case

you’ve used up three poems worth of words in me
and i’ve tried writing about literally everything else but
all trains of thought go back to back and wind their way to you
like roads to Rome

i like the ache of knowing for sure that i’ll lose you
and that we will only cross paths for a short while
whether they’re pavements or cobbled streets or the side of the motorway
they only touch. and then move away

you’ve drawn three poems worth of words from me
and i have ten more waiting in the wings like 13 year old ballet dancers
stepping on each other’s toes
whispering in each other’s ears
all contrived and all unique
like you and i

So I’ve wrote another poem to describe you
But it’s impossible to describe the way you feel
Is this what love is like? Trying endlessly to write on sand before the waves arrive
Before the sea comes, you leave and the beach is smooth again.
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