Ordeal

An emotional poem about a dancer with low self esteem, constantly compares herself to the others in her class and ends up losing sight of what’s important.

She tried to make her own broken look beautiful but each clumsy step she took relived an unimaginable pain, like walking on shattered glass then slipping on your own scarlet blood. Ordeal could no longer feel her feet, its rubberiness announcing a defying numbness. She seemed to be this perfect idea but never the human-being.
What ever happened to her passion? Her fondness for  dance was like a wilted rose. What was once a beautiful sight with exquisite grace , got picked on , stomped on and destroyed. "You're not good enough," their voices ricocheted, the girl looked back at her feet, the cramps and bruises feeling like nothing now. Nothing. She was simply a broken bird's wing that forgot how to fly, so like every impossible strive, Ordeal gave up. Those people, the ones that faulted her, closed the ballerina- music box, letting the cobwebs play instead. She avoided the mirrors harsh stare, every time she looked she saw a broken sole that lacked the familiar passion she craved. The girl's thoughts went stale and colourless, every memory Ordeal conjured replayed the same  earsplitting echoes of her bones  snapping or the seemingly faultless swans surrounded her yet she was that one ungracious pigeon.

Day after day her body rebuilt itself, barcodes swam around her skin like glitter and confetti , the sheer idea of perfect illuminating her flesh. Just a number, just a label, just a barcode nothing more , nothing less. Ordeal revised that code in soft whispers every night, losing a sense of her self, quickly each time. The ungracious pigeon disappeared leaving a simple white feather dancing in the air , gradually falling, once with contact with the floor.
The girl knew she was utterly broken, but that was okay,
That was human,
That was temporary...

~C.J


( This one is about learning to love yourself, And also shows how powerful and painful it is to be a dancer, I lasted a month doing dance for gcse. I felt so much pressure because everyone else seemed to be professionals and I always tried to avoid looking at myself in the mirror because I didn't want to see how fat I was, eventually I quit. That's the easy way out, seriously it takes a lot of guts and pride, sweat and tears, to look at yourself top to bottom and say who cares? I'm better than that, I applaud any dancer or anyone who is insecure that has kept going...)

Author's Note

I apologise for any grammar problems.