And 1, and 2, and 3, and 4,

And 2, and 2, and 3, and 4,

Fouetté, fifth, Chassé, Jeté

They dance as one.

In leotards and tights,

Their feet ache in pain,

Pointe shoes on their feet,

Masking the blood and bruises.

Have to keep practicing,

No matter how they ache,

Must always look elegant…

Gentle…

Graceful.

She looks around as the combination ends,

Flat stomach, perfect posture, neat bun,

She is envious of what she observes.

No six pack she has,

A little blubber here and there,

Seemingly out of shape and overweight,

Not made to dance.

She must be like them,

She must be light--

On her feet,

In the air,

She must be a dancer.

She sees other girls,

All in perfection,

Looks at herself,

She can’t stand what she notices,

In the wall length mirror.

She needs to get thin,

Although people tell her she is,

She tells herself they’re just being polite,

She needs to lose that stomach…

That butt…

Those thighs…

Can’t eat that food,

Can’t get any more fat,

The fat that would be inside her if she ate,

It’s in that chip…

Those desserts…

Those fruits…

Take nothing in,

And nothing is what you gain,

She knows it’s not healthy,

Though she has to do this,

She has to be thin…

Beautiful…

Perfect.

She lies in bed,

She wonders,

Her stomach growls from days of starvation,

Is it worth being thin...

Beautiful…

Perfect?