
Their delicate feet tapped, their skirts bloomed like lilies and their fingers caressed the air. The show was beautiful, ephemeral and moving. I stared in awe and hatred. My body had once been as beautiful, flexible and delicate as theirs. Those naive girls had no idea what ballet truly was, but I did. While my husband teaches them everything he taught me, I sit and wait for a concert where I don’t dance. Ritualistic torture transformed from a once loved cycle of performance. As he runs his aging hands down their taut legs I feel mine alone, disappointed. My eyes grew wide with boiling hatred, if only I could snap those precious, beautiful, young swan-like necks. Would he still love them then?
All I could think of
was my intense hate
and the wicked twist
of my own fate
There was a time
I was the star
ballerina extraordinaire
I’d gone so far
Traveled all the world
great applause I heard
how they clamored for me
hung on my every word
Look at me now
broken by this disease
I would never dance again
the doctor said with ease
Legs are so twisted
and ugly to the eye
destroyed my whole world
but wouldn’t make me die
Stuck in this wheelchair
forced to watch them dance
ate up by their beauty
as they pirouette and prance
I don’t understand why
he must torture me
can he not comprehend
why doesn’t he see?
Can’t take it anymore
time for him to pay
he doesn’t know yet
it’s his judgement day
Knife under the pillow
the preparations are made
when he goes to sleep
my pain will be repaid
When I am done
ugly he will be
as these twisted legs
that have crippled me.
Teresa Marie 9/18/11
picture it & write contribution
Like this:
Like Loading...