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Description
She stands in hallways
Far from uneventful; unnoticed perhaps.
Rigid.
The world is her stage.
She hears her own ballet
and twirls.
Dances like an angel.
Entranced.

But the world has her jaded.
She dreams of songbirds.
If she could sing,
her toes would not be so squared.
Her fans stare on, hoping for
a moment-- sublime.

She stands, a study in realism.
Legs tremble...she will never
fit the part.
True hearts are true
but never a vision of perfection,
always somehow abrasive.

She pirouettes and
fabric flutters like time
or iridescent butterflies.
They are someone else's dreams.
Her dreams are here, in the spotlight...
Costumed and terrified.

She is unyielding,
arms stretched out like branches.
Her shadow flits and plays;
Arms sad and shy.
She is a weeping willow,
alone amongst her peers.
Sentinel amid the ridicule of
left behind playbills.