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Fiona May 8
Plié, plié.
8 x 3.
1, 2, 3, and 4.
Years have passed,
but the memory hasn't.
My body knows
how to move,
even if my mind
is still.
She learned pointe by avoiding broken glass
Laying almost everywhere she looked
If she moved even one inch out of place
Her toes would drip blood red over the floor
She never realized how beautifully she danced
As that was her protection, an avoidance of pain
A dancer, a light born in darkness
Her potential tapped without any realization
But whenever she performed, there remained no audience
Except the broken glass that made her who she was
And that was alright for her
Lorena Mar 29
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.
When a little girl plays with her doll

sometimes she'll check for a fever

she sees no bruise when she looks over the legs

she feels no pulse when she tries the arms

but she nurses it back to health -

that's her looking to bring back a smile never lost



When an adolescent girl falls in dance class

sometimes she'll check for broken bones

she sees no damage on her legs

she helps herself up using her own arms

and she returns to her ballet

that's her looking to do well at the recital



When a grown woman checks her ex's profile

sometimes she'll be searching for a sign

no signs she can see, as she pulls up her knees

that they miss her back, while she scratches her hands

but she continues to look

that's her looking for a change of mind that will never happen -

that's her wishing a change of mind was visible, so she can stay that's why she still looks.
This was originally one or two lines long so and a reviewer got confused so I decided I had to lengthen it. I do need to do longer poetry in general to be honest, my writing is usually way too short :/
Gem Palomar Dec 2019
They say "It takes two to tango"
But I can dance alone
Like a graceful ballerina
With aching ankles
And broken bones
I'll gracefully show you
How beautifully broken I am
Jack Jenkins Dec 2019
She danced on the rooftops with the moon to her back
Proud and shining on her elegant ballet
Whisps of fog entwined her shadowed figure
As she glided backwards with her final bourree, into the night
A secluded heart now followed her everglow light
//On love//

Bourree is that very quick tiptoe ballet move.
Anais Nov 2019
Sharp turns,

Bright smile,

Pointed feet,

Beautiful face,

Tall posture,

Straight arms,

Technique.



"It's all about the technique."

They said.

Constantly. Screams in my

ear.

Doubts of skill,

of capabilities.



"Hair up, watch the posture!"

Whispers in the corner.

Judges, teachers,

watching my every skin.

Old shoes,

grey in colour,

worn-out,

exhausted.

Two injuries to the leg,

A forced smile,

A lust for sunsets.



Wrapped the shoes in

bandages.

Enough,

for the grand

finale.



Carried by the wind,

two strong arms, brown in

colour, defined.

Up, and up I go.

Look up, chin up, fingers up.

Like an angel.

"Move the hands sharply.

With the music.

Relaxed, yet strong."

Down I go, back to the chest.

A face, two eyes, brown lips.

Tall posture, hands meet,

Pirouettes, Assemblé, Plié.

Stop.

Turn to look,

fall in love.

Grande Jeté. Tour en l'air.

A Pas de deux. In perfect sync.

He looks past me. Past my eyes,

past my soul.



I stare at him. Directly. Entering his

very orbit. Exploring the chocolate of

his orbs.

Relishing his scent, the drops of sweat

dripping from his brow.

Back down I fall.

A final Panché.

Staring up, leaning

towards him.

Him. Staring at another.

In a closet, while I,

savour the bitterness

of a Pas de deux.
Hi
Broken shadows cut
against the corridors

A hand extends up
poetic, delicate, curved

She is leaning against
rigidity, structure, ancient

history, poised like
swans linking necks

In solidarity and confinement
a thin layer of water

is disrupted
by the pitter and patter of children’s

feet
Arms extended out

to catch the wind,
disappearing into the steam
Carmen Jane Sep 2019
Let me tell you a story
As we are gathered here
It's about a princess
And her name is Josephine
I know you're busy
To praise my older sister
I know she just did
This amazing thing at swimming
Yet my story is great
Cause that princess is me
And you all smiled
When I told you her name.

I wish I knew how to continue my story
But for now I'm pleased
Cause you were all looking at me
I could continue
But I had a hard day
You took my sister and me
To this amazing place
They had ballerina dresses
And leotards and tutus
Yet we were there
To find the right tap shoes
I took my shoes off
So I can try them on
Yet you put my shoes right back
And explained I'll have to wait
As we were there
To find the right tap shoes
Just for my big sister
I am not upset at all
I know I can grow
And one day I might tap
In the same shoes you bought.

Trust me, I am thankful
That you asked about my room
Which is my favorite color
As you'll get to paint it soon
I am only two
And as we are all gathered
I would like to tell you
A little story
About a princess
Her name is Josephine
My 2 year old daughter , who might or not have a different name, announced she had a little story to tell us...:)
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