Poetry | Art
I Dance
Poem
I dance towards light,
but what is light
if when I grasp for it
I fall?
I dance with grace,
but what is grace
if my heart is a beast?
Ballerinas on pointe
pirouette in place
and I? I yearn
to twirl
free.
My soul clings to a dream
of life lived
below the pedestal,
beyond perfection’s prison.
Yet,
I plié
and relevé
for the critics
with ruthless pens.
“A beauty,” they write,
“though brazen, (im)pure.”
Do they know,
my spirit fades?
How long must I spin
around my fears?
How high must I soar
till I meet peace?
I dance for art,
but what is art
if all that is left in end
is my broken body
tattooed with visions
of other selves
I might have been?
This poem was inspired by the stories of several principal ballet dancers. I think its relevance spans beyond dance and even art.
