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.