Behind Closed Curtains

Wed, 11/23/2016 - 22:15 -- gesh

Since I was a little girl,

I dreamed of being a ballerina.

 

And now look at me:

Caught up in this twisted dance for fools.

 

I wished for nothing more than to have stage,

And now all I lack is an audience.

 

Graceful, I am.

So delicate, so perfect.

Sometimes I forget I am not a porcelain ballerina.

 

It is only when I twirl back to stare at my fans

That my heart clenches at the sight of empty velvet chairs.

 

It is only when the curtain falls with a silent flutter,

That I let myself collapse to the stage and cry.

 

My fingers clenching dried rose petals,

I melt into the floor and let the violins swallow me.

 

Quiet, I am.

So fragile, so perfect.

Sometimes I forget I am not the lie I wove myself to be.

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

Comments

Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.
 

 

If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741