Glue and Glass Cases.
I am a ballerina in a glass case. Sitting upon the shelf in pirouetted perfection, I stare at the world around me. People gaze at the beauty of my figure, they idolize my form. They see the airbrushed complexion and the glossy shine of my hair. They don’t see the brokeness that once was and perhaps lingers still. Time and time again, I have fallen from this shelf I call home. Some occasions, I was pushed, while yet others I willingly and thoughtlessly jumped. The outcome is always the same. In a pile of shattered pieces and fragmented dreams, I have laid on the cool floor of life. These pieces have been set right again and the wounds have healed. The cracks left I have hidden, put back with glue of cheerful countenances and carefully selected words. Yet would it be all so bad if they saw the cracks, viewed openly the scars that explain my construction? Is it perhaps the most broken people who are the most beautiful? Perhaps then could I leave this shelf, break this glass case around me. Perhaps then I could be real, be free. I could dance. That’s the purpose for ballerinas, isn’t it? To dance, to glide beautifully, to stumble gracefully and to let the show go on? I am starved to release the emotion within me, both joy and pain. Bottled in my chest is glorious, it’s passionate and it wants to be known. Will I remove this case, step into territory I have entered with a rare few, and let my heart dance freely as it desires? More than anything do I want to be raw, to be real. Something will shatter today. Say goodbye to the glass case. This ballerina is dancing off her shelf.
I am a ballerina in a glass case. Sitting upon the shelf in pirouetted perfection, I stare at the world around me. People gaze at the beauty of my figure, they idolize my form. They see the airbrushed complexion and the glossy shine of my hair. They don’t see the brokeness that once was and perhaps lingers still. Time and time again, I have fallen from this shelf I call home. Some occasions, I was pushed, while yet others I willingly and thoughtlessly jumped. The outcome is always the same. In a pile of shattered pieces and fragmented dreams, I have laid on the cool floor of life. These pieces have been set right again and the wounds have healed. The cracks left I have hidden, put back with glue of cheerful countenances and carefully selected words. Yet would it be all so bad if they saw the cracks, viewed openly the scars that explain my construction? Is it perhaps the most broken people who are the most beautiful? Perhaps then could I leave this shelf, break this glass case around me. Perhaps then I could be real, be free. I could dance. That’s the purpose for ballerinas, isn’t it? To dance, to glide beautifully, to stumble gracefully and to let the show go on? I am starved to release the emotion within me, both joy and pain. Bottled in my chest is glorious, it’s passionate and it wants to be known. Will I remove this case, step into territory I have entered with a rare few, and let my heart dance freely as it desires? More than anything do I want to be raw, to be real. Something will shatter today. Say goodbye to the glass case. This ballerina is dancing off her shelf.
