the dancer

Sweat, blood, pan, you have to sacrifice when you dance; but it’s worth it. Dance is painful, yes – but I love dance.

the dancer 

 

she walks on rivers,

dancing on top

on the tip of her toes;

standing on the very tip

of her toes

and dancing

till her breaths 

and sweat and movement

blend into a blurriness,

which she can see through

and still dance

to the music playing

around her as the world

disappears. 

 

she treads on top of waters,

her frustration 

and stress and sadness,

now out in the open;

just like her

as she twirls and lets 

the world go by her;

she doesn’t care anymore,

not when she dances

because when she dances,

she feels like she belongs,

and it’s the closest

to flying like the birds 

as she defies gravity. 

 

she’s tiptoeing on seas,

and it doesn’t matter

if she does walk

on sprained feet

and if her feet does bleed

and her feet become raw,

showing the skin 

under her skin;

it doesn’t matter

because she’s dancing

as she stretches her arms

and strains to reach

towards what only she can see.