I remember the smiley face tattoos on your feet.
Highlighter yellow that didn’t seem to match your personality,
and how I complimented them because I longed for your approval.
While you praised girls who leaped high and wore Sillybandz on their wrists.
I have always had flat feet.
That tracked sand into the studio because I played in the sandbox after school,
but once a week I wore pointe shoes.
I loved dancing pirouette’s even when I got dizzy staring at posters.
When you picked me, you held a string above my head and told me to grow with my toes.
I tried, but I don’t think I was ever high enough for you.
I danced for you and gave it my all,
even though I became more and more aware of the weight I was carrying.
Weight of sand, and people-pleasing
dancing around a mirrorball shattered on the floor.
Traded dancing in the studio to dancing pirouettes on my kitchen floor
and occasionally will spin the plastic mirrorball on my five-year trophy.