"leotards" poems
Never will I be covered in tattoos
My legs and toes shall forever stay bruised.
I’ll never paint or carry a tune
Forever and ever, I’ll wear a tutu.
I won’t dye my hair pink or blue
My piercings will stay as the simple two
Nails cut short and hair in a bun
In ballet, this must be done.
Pink tights by the mound
Bobby pins all around
Leotards on the floor
Pointe shoes by the door.
Toes taped so tightly
Smiling big and brightly
Red lipstick adding to her beauty
The dancer moves so smoothly.
Turned out from my hips
No words coming from my lips
I dance sweetly to the sound
Ooh ballet, to you, I am bound.
Full of grace, never haste
Filling perfectly my costume of lace
Ever so sweet, my dancing feet
Step after step, I repeat and repeat.
Obtaining perfection is my key
It’s what I strive for, it’s all that defines me
Pushing harder and harder to reach my goal
It’s what I live for, ballet is my soul.
My toes may bleed
And my knees, grow weak
But I’ll never stop dancing…
Not until I reach my peak.
Pirouette, Pirouette
Dancer’s silhouette
Practicing at dusk
Dedication is a must.
Stretching my limbs
Choreographing on a whim
Alway aiming to be stronger
To hold my arabesque longer.
When I do finally reach that triple pirouette
and all is done and all is set
I put myself back into class
Aiming for a fourth, to be better than the last.
This is the life of a dancer en point
Risking the health of her feet, legs and joints
Just for that one perfect moment on stage
Where the ballerina stands tall and all are amazed.
Feb 19, 2014
Feb 19, 2014 at 3:49 AM UTC
Did you know that if you leave your car in your driveway,
With the keys in the ignition,
And someone sits down in the front seat like they own it, and drives away,
You are the one who is liable for theft?
They can drive that sucker to the coast.
They can burn the upholstery with their cigarettes. They can bring their friends into the back seat, and fill the compartments with their refuse, and **** and they can leave it ruined in front of your house, or crushed into the median on the highway, or left in disconnected pieces under an overpass.
It will be called, “unauthorized use of a vehicle.”
It will be called a “misdemeanor.”
But you left the car running.
Weren't you kind of asking for it to happen?
They said,
This,
(Gesturing to the skirt which fell to two inches
above my kneecap),
Is like that.
If I walk outside of my house in jeans and a t-shirt, or a long dress with thin straps,
Or with my chin tilted out,
Or with long eyelashes,
Or with full lips,
Or with my hips swaying when I walk,
It's like I left the car running.
It's like I invited them to force their bodies into the front seat.
In their minds, or with their hands, or with their lips to anyone who would listen to them.
Little girls in leotards become like unlocked car doors;
Where men can burn their cigarettes into their skin,
Or stick their fingers in
In plain view of their parents,
And told to let it happen,
Quietly.
It isn't theft,
It's “a medical examination.”
What did they expect?
It isn't a theft.
She was just as guilty of negligence.
It isn't really a felony.
It's not THAT BAD. (Stop being so dramatic.)
It's the unauthorized use of your body, for a time, or one night,
or every time you close your eyes for the rest of your life,
Sure-
But you left the car running.
May 22, 2018
May 22, 2018 at 1:25 PM UTC
I jumped from couch to couch, avoiding the floor that was lava.
The balloon soared and floated in the air, and it could not touch the ground.
Circus animal cookies and chocolate milk were there everyday.
When I was small, the world was big and magical.
My role models were Barney and Babar, Kermit and Elmo.
I wore pink leotards and frilly tutus and stretchy slippers and shiny, black tap shoes.
I’d look up at the sky to see that fluffy white clouds were bunnies, hippos and butterflies.
When I was small, nothing was impossible.
Parks were kingdoms and the jungle-gym was the castle.
My glittery costume gown and my plastic tiara meant I was a real princess,
Peter Pan would come take me away, to live in Neverland.
When I was small, I was immortal.
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 4:18 PM UTC
Always follow your dreams
Even if they involve
Lions
Elephants
Motorcycles
Flying through the air
Meeting an alternate version of yourself
Talking to invisible creatures
Throwing pie at people
Interpretive dance
Singing in nonexistent languages
Walking on the celing
Contortions
Swallowing fire and blades
Leotards
Hoopskirts
Facepaint
Masks
Or flashing lights
Because in the end
When other people see it
They'll either laugh with you
Or stare, breathless and in awe
Sep 10, 2016
Sep 10, 2016 at 11:37 PM UTC
The news said:
"It's entirely likely,
in fact, it's more likely,
that we are living in a simulation."
The circus and the chorus lines
are just for the architect's amusement.
When the leotards on the high wire
fall, he laughs the hardest.
Measuring the moon with his hands,
does anyone knows its' circumference?
"If someone can measure the moon,
we are better off."
Everyone forgets
the fallen artist,
and stares at the moon.
Some shout indiscriminately.
Three engineers
create a proof,
that creates an equation,
that is widely believed
for the next 100 years, before
proven later to be false.
The artist nurses his broken knee.
"Can't anyone see I'm suffering?"
Everyone stares at the moon.
Nov 10, 2017
Nov 10, 2017 at 12:48 AM UTC
On the 12th day of Christmas
My troubles gave to me........
12 unpaid bills
11 ringing cash tills
10 packets of batteries
09 invites to parties
08 year olds a screaming
07 unwanted toys redeeming
06 packets of dog biscuits
05 unwanted parking tickets
04 overdrawn credit cards
03 strange looking leotards
02 forgotten to buy turkeys
And a garage for those car keys
Nov 29, 2010
Nov 29, 2010 at 3:03 PM UTC
imagine a conductor who
orchestrated with an orchestra
but instead of using his hands
to imitate rhythm... used his head...
and rhythm guitar could
be noted down in drumming rhythm,
still the conductor head-banging
rather than rhyming a# with c and d-dur
with his head rather than his hands:
air drumming and i hammered that
head into a shark head worth a 17th century
wig because i was too lazy to brush or cut
my hair; we were all grey and retired
in the former fashion trend as now-days
shrunk flesh for saving fashioning materials
into contorted squares of leopards in leotards.
Mar 4, 2016
Mar 4, 2016 at 3:28 PM UTC
my shy, hesitant frame was first taken to obligatory ballet lessons when it was only 5 years old
the pale pink clinging leotards and scuffed leather slippers decorated with neat string bows would always outweigh the strain of my mothers scraping nails against my scalp in order to achieve the perfect ballerina bun seconds before each and every lesson in the vastly daunting and vacant room
where our innocent and wide-eyed little selves were our sole company in the face of the towering glass pane staring straight back at us
the sheen of the never-ending polished pole stretched right across the middle
and we strained to try and make ourselves grow taller than each other
to look like real dancers practising their pliés for hours upon hours
and I made my small body bear the unbearable
the strung out aching the myriad of assorted stretches lit in my weak limbs as I tried to train my fingers to kiss my tippy toes
like a desperate attempt at mimicking the distance between fingertips in The Creation of Adam
always almost within reach
but never meeting
soon enough the pink and the pretty and the pleasing image this form of dance appeared to me to be was no longer enough
and the sparkles and sequins and garish glitter costumes began to fade along with reflecting rainbow coloured stage lights and 4 years worth of overpriced Academy Lessons and Exams
I guess I gave up on touching my toes
Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 6:16 PM UTC
Pink ballet tights don't hide cuts.
Leotards black as smoke don't conceal all the regrets I have swallowed.
My perfect bunhead doesn't pull together all the loose ends of my mind.
I'm sorry mom that somewhere between your migraines and stress your daughter ran into the bathroom.
I'm sorry Dad that you try so hard and you always end up with ***** ups.
I was supposed to be the perfect one.
I have tried to be perfect for so long.
I gave up when I learned that society feeds us chocolate covered concrete.
I gave up when the sun went down and the moon never came up.
I gave up when the mirror started to grab my eyes and made me stare.
I gave up when I couldnt give up.
Now I'm just trying to appear perfect.
I'm faking everyone out
I'm so fun to talk to
I'm such a happy girl
Mom I will do ballet and help you clean
Daddy I will run so you can be proud
You deserve to be proud of something
I'm just sorry that it has to be fake.
I don't know how long this will go on
Just try to enjoy the show while it lasts.
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 5:46 AM UTC
First, throw in heaps of leotards and tights,
Piles of pointe shoes and old band aids.
Follow that with boxes
and boxes full of shiny,
rainbow colored dance costumes.
Then stacks of bills for the cortisone shots
that saved arthritic hips.
Boil away all traces of emotion,
No one likes a soup salted with painful memories.
Add a pinch of the cash father sent every month
just to keep mother off his back.
Allow a glance at family pictures
where everyone is smiling before they get thrown into the ***
Mixing with the remnants to create a strange soup.
A deck of cards next, I think, with some Kibi
for a Middle Eastern flair.
Now turn down the heat so that lovely burning boil becomes just a simmer of anger and
Go find the crates of things better left unsaid.
Rummage through the
“OFF LIMITS” box,
pull out the nightgowns Uncle loved too much
and throw those in as well,
Just for fun.
Jun 20, 2010
Jun 20, 2010 at 1:27 AM UTC
I twirl around,
arms and legs moving in sync.
Breathing deeply, I repeat the motion,
and when I mess up,
I laugh at myself.
My head whips around and my eyes search
for the spot of which I focus.
Once more I spin,
and finally,
I come to a stop.
Reality washes over me,
I'm not in a dance studio,
rather, I'm in my room.
"That was then," I mutter,
"this is now. No more."
But I still reminisce,
recall those happy memories.
I continue to forget the steps,
and how to do them.
When I'm alone,
and my mind wanders,
I sometimes think about those days.
From the sound of the music,
and my aching muscles,,
to the jokes or complaints,
and the instructions from the teacher.
And sometimes I search.
I look through my mind for all that I learned,
and I look through the house for them,
My leotards, tights, ballet shoes.
When I can't find them,
it makes my heart ache.
I miss the days of dance,
Ballet, tap, and jazz classes.
I remember my friends,
those I haven't seen since.
I recall the rush of the stage,
and wondering if I'd change fast enough.
You know that saying?
The one about dancers?
Allow me to tell you,
its the truth.
Once a dancer,
ALWAYS a dancer...
At least until you forget...
Dec 29, 2010
Dec 29, 2010 at 4:19 PM UTC
I thought I'd drop by the gym
and ride the bike awhile
maybe lift some weight
and at the ladies, smile
You can imagine my amazement
it's like the circus came to town
animals all over the equipment
working out, and losing pounds
Elephants on stair steppers
zebras, riding ellipticals, and bikes
rhinos and ducks, on the treadmills
running from porcupines, with spikes
The bears lifting free weights
and gators on all of the machines
snapping at those that pause to watch
as they do ten more reps, of eighteen
All the cats are in the classrooms
lions and tigers, leotards to adjust
aerobically lithe and unchallenged
as with all cats, flexibility, is a must
I quickly left without a sound
marking date and time for sure
this place wont be clean for days
sweeping up, hair, scales, and fur
May 3, 2017
May 3, 2017 at 8:03 AM UTC
When I was younger
I wanted to be
Superman
Spiderman
An X-man
A man
Like Gandhi
Or MLK Junior
A writer
An artist
And through
All of this
A good man
So here I am
The poet activist
No leotards
I am not marching
Or flying
But I am trying
By writing
To make the world
A better place
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 5:17 AM UTC
I woke up early in the morning,
I bent,
I twisted,
I gyrated,
I jumped up and down,
After half an hour I was sweating,
At last I had my leotards on,
That was enough of aerobics for me.
13/11/2019
Nov 13, 2019
Nov 13, 2019 at 9:43 AM UTC
Love is seldom getting mad
Love is giving all you had
Love is taking moonlit walks
Love is sharing private thoughts
Love is sweet and innocent
Love is always Heaven sent
Love is smelling sweet perfume
Love is watching a cartoon
Love is acting like two kids
Love is shutting toilet lids
Love is turning off the light
Love is vowing not to fight
True love is never ending
Love is never condescending
Love is never talking down
True love makes the world go 'round
Love is dressing up real nice
Love is never thinking twice
Love does special things for you
Love is true and made for two
Love is frilly underwear
Love is fixing up your hair
Love is losing your appetite
Love is always looking great
True love lasts to Infinity
True love lasts for Eternity
True Love never goes away
I know love is here to stay
Love is fresh-picked wild flowers
Love is April and May showers
Love is funny greeting cards
Love is purple leotards
Love is a slow dance
Love is lots of 2nd chances
Love is calling when you're late
Love is flavored Coffee Mate
Love is roller-coaster rides
Love is giant water slides
Love is bicycles built for two
Love is me & love is you
Love is walking in the rain
Holding hands, singing a refrain
Love is romping on the beach
Love is never out of reach
Love is great joy
Love is "Oh boy! "
Love is a sly grin
Love ain't no sin
Love is a silly song
Nope—love is never wrong
Love is never long enough
Love is sharing your best stuff
Love is a great big surprise
Love is watching the sun rise
Love is wishing upon a star
Love is riding in the car
Love is playing tricks on you
Love is hoping you don't sue
Love is never growing old
Love is color; love is bold
Love is trying to please you
Love is strolling through the zoo
Love is never getting bored
Love is love down to the core
Love is the apple of my eye
Love is that gentle sigh
Love is letting you go first
Love is smiling through the worst
Love is writing love duets
Love is eating crepe Suzettes
Love is singing long love songs
True love is love that lasts as long.
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 11:15 PM UTC
She passed out
between the Game Makers
At
The Rancheria's casino
I was playing Bonus Deuces Wild
She was playing a penny a line
Hitting five of a kind on the first play in the continuum
She acknowledged my luck
Then lay her head down between the machines
as if looking for something
She could not find
Time passed
Banging along
Credits up and credits down
I asked her if she needed help
She was comatose
Remembered it far later
Her bottom gum was pink,
Where her teeth
Should have been
We laid her down
I held her head
I forgot 17 years of CPR training
I remembered it later
Her breath would stop
Then sputter back to life
Life trying to find away
Help arrived after a while
Disorganized for a while
and ill prepared
for an establishment frequented with old people and another addict
They
worked hard at it
got the hang of it
brought her back to life several times
It didn't matter
Emily dressed in black leotards
Balancing a drink tray
told me about her a while later
She had been alone
grieving,
an anyuerism
She died.
My CPR
wouldn't have mattered
But before I left that afternoon
I told Security
I didn't mean to be crass or crude
Or
sacrilegious.
But could he please push the button
To get my ticket
I had money in that machine
He said to me
I guess we're all lucky today
I know what he means
heading out the doors
To the sun and the winds.
Nov 22, 2019
Nov 22, 2019 at 9:57 AM UTC