The Ballerina

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The light kissed their faces Heaven's hue through which it shown   An empty stage apart from her alone. She needs no music, and stutters a breath Her once stable ankles surrender and creath.  The silence is deafening  She feels so alone  On this worn old stage that she still calls her home.  Her dance is pure instinct, and comes quickly with Their judgement nearly brings her down to her knees.   Though they still stare, calculating and cold  Upset that she doesn't fit into their perfect mold.  That smile, too big. Those legs too long  Everything about her is perfectly wrong She tries to continue, hold her chin up  But the pressure is too much, and she ceases to try. Her dance is over, she takes her  Her confident front is over now  She turns her back to her ghostly crowd, She'll hold in her tears, she's far too proud  Walking away is the hardest part,  But no amount of applause can heal this broken heart.

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