Monday, January 9, 2012


I’m the item in a ballerina’s life that makes her ankles hurt and toes scream. I am beautiful on the outside but once your feet hit that dance floor. You’re going down, in pain and in agony. Your feet are on fire. Your mind spins. I butcher you toes to no end. They make you the star, gorgeous, taller than the world. But every spin, jump, and move you do sends are string of numbness up your legs. When the dance is over, you suffer the consequences. Your ruby blood stains me. My ribbons tear, I’m falling apart. Into the trash I go after all these years. But just wait, next time I’m still coming for you. 

Can you guess what that is?

1 comment:

  1. Pointe shoes, duh!! I feel ya though. :(