I’m not a Disney princess,
And I’m not a showgirl either,
That one time I dabbled in burlesque,
I fell, and fell, and bled a little puddle.
It’s too bad, though, because that yearning to be a ballerina
has plagued me for quite some time,
Not sure if it’s the poetic tip-toes,
Or the ribbon, or the body in it’s perfect lines
Twirling on a pointe.
Maybe it all comes down to geometry,
Everything in it’s perfect shape,
The trail of freckles dotting your spine,
Hands cradling my round belly,
And you- your glorious frozen smile-
etched into the space between my shoulder blades,
In the morning time before any cloth whispers to us from the closet, beckoning us to re-mask:
It’s a war out there.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s