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Kimi ZS Oct 2018
You were the anti-glow.
A ball of soot, sunk
in pools of polyester.

You dented the lines of your
encyclopedia - ingested
images of the panther, the puma

and sat somewhere between
black ant and black bear
hibernating under towels of burnt tulle.

You fell off pastel lines
into charcoal smudge,
undersaturated, a pen-test-scribble,

a parachute in negative space
to protect your smoke-wisped skull.
when i was a small child, i wore black to a ballet class.
Brandon Conway Aug 2018
Fingers dance around
strings as if trained at Bolshoi
dance academy
Payton Hayes Jun 2018
I love the way you always
challenge me.
          The way you always
         keep me on my toes.
          The way         you always
get my heart beating
like a drum.
This time, it was a race, only the first one
     to cross the finish line
     was not the winner.
The way you asked me
       what I wanted if I wanted if I won and what would happen
                                                   if I lost.
I tried to hold out on you, love, but your dancing
   fingers and perfect rhythm get me every time.
And when I moaned softly, as our ballet met its coda,
               you yanked me so close that my chest was
   one with yours and you whispered in my ear,

                                                   “I. Win.”
Elizabeth Jun 2018
She was a swan. A swan of white and subtle grey who would dance around my kitchen in the middle of the night. Her fingers pricked the edges of my face as she slowly lifted my frown into the first smile i’d seen in awhile. She was a dancer but not like the elegant ones you see in the ballet shows, she had a mind of her one. She was the ugly duckling but a beautiful one indeed. The way her white feathers caressed my thoughts kept me guessing. The way she danced kept me wanting more.
Aaron LaLux Jun 2018
When words are not enough,
and the world won’t get off her back,
she dances the Devils way,
She’s a princess,
wait she’s a queen,
wait she’s an angel,
wait she’s everything,
a Goddess,
the hottest performing artist I’ve ever seen,

and she’s dancing,
dancing is her therapy,

I mean,
I’m not James Brown,
but it’s a man’s world,
even if Rihanna runs this town,

See,
she’s been suppressed all her life,
and I’m not just talking about Rihanna,
I’m talking about every girl that was ever forced to be a wife,
just to survive in this life,

she was touched by her father,
or brother or cousin,
when she was just a little girl,
I know we all wish it wasn’t,
but it is true,
so what’s a girl to do,
when she’s a clean 13 messing with The ***** Dozen,

this isn’t battle of the sexes,
this is war of the worlds,
wants to be a woman but she’s just a girl,
no No Doubt just burnt out nerves taken turns,

she never asked to be born,
with the burden of being beautiful,
but she refuses to conform,
she is attractable irrational and radical,
so when it’s all too much,
the stares and the catcalls,
the aggressive forceful touch,
the nails across her back like a blackboard,
and the moans become just white noise,
she takes it all in,
she forgives the man because he’s just a boy,
he is an angel even if he has fallen,
she takes it all in,
and she uses all of those abuses,
as the fuel with the tools which induces,
an allusive state of truth which,
allows her to move with intuitive smoothness,
and lose herself in the music morphing into what a centrifuge is,
separating fluids transforming what was otherwise useless abuses,
into a truth that cruises and confuses the stupid stooges,

she dances,
in a statement of glorious refusal to submit to their ideals,
she is more than a princess queen angel goddess,
she is fire burning up all preconceived notions of *** appeal,
the real deal,
dancing sweating cleansing her soul and her pores,
moving faster in progression refuting repression,
overcoming an obsession of oppression and knocking down all doors,
she is not a possession,
though she is possessed when,
she’s a dancing expression of how we all feel and more,

no words are enough,
she shows what we all feel,
she reveals what,
was before thinly concealed,

she is the perfect expression,
of imperfect circumstances,
she is poetic stanzas,
she is the paint on the canvas,
there is no question that she is the answer,
and all of this is made clear when she takes it all in,
let’s go of everything and dances…

∆aron L∆ Lux ∆

#strength #metoo #dancer #ballet #blackswan
Grace May 2018
You are the drunk father at a ballet recital,

Who falls off the stage after shaking everyone's hands.

You are the body that brightens my life.
I wrote this in a challenge to "Write a three-line poem about lemons without using the following words: lemon, yellow, round, fruit, citrus, ****, juicy, peel, and sour."
Mimi Apr 2018
in midwinter noon’s light your fingers shudder out concerto number three
on the insides of your cheek
in the hollows of your thighs
prickling beneath your ribs
swollen heart
knees that cave so, just so

split second they called you beautiful
golden under the lights
but many hours more you oxidize
feet
rusting varnish green
rusty blood that stems, slowly, slowly

they say the music dances through the one she loves, a body and life anew
i once saw the night embrace you as a lover
did you love her back?
did you love me back?
or were we to have and to hold and to throw
across the room
reborn as something less
written november 2017
Mimi Apr 2018
a minute on the stage you are resplendent as a thousand suns, refracting
ten thousand hours you are the shade of worn soles, warehouse practice rooms, old blood and baby powder,
unpretty.
and glorious
written 8/4/17
Brandi Apr 2018
Graceful lines and symmetry
but beneath it all you cannot see
the chaos held together with spit and prayers
and a cocktail of modern medicine's
latest poison.
My dance is a side effect
that just happens to be graceful
my song
a disembodied pantomine
that passes for social interaction.

I don't pretend to be like you
but I'm trying  
and on my best days I stretch and preen
and the sun hits my feathers in just the right way
and almost
in the right light I resemble who I really am without
bipolar.
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