Ballerina
Eyes follow me about everywhere;
I sense them I see them I breathe them I
taste them I am devoured by them I
am paralyzed where no paralysis
should take place. I am taken by the lot
of those eyes. I am disgraced by the whole
of my own shaken body, seams falling
apart where the fabrics have all lined up
against my torn frame and form, eyes rake ‘cross
bloodied skin, telling me to dance again:
“Perform,
perform, put your darling face back on!
Face your audience, open your mouth.
Tell it to shriek or to scream, but open
it up nonetheless. Give our eyes some small
thing to glance at while you grovel away.
Let us watch your paralysis, lick up
that beautiful blood you spill, so frozen
in our spell. Let us watch you while you wake.
Our eyes, pervasively, felt up your skin.
We cannot wait to see you dance again.”
My feet wail like knives when I force them
to move. I am a cut-up doll, strings sawed away
as I am forced to move across
this sweat-beaten stage. I cannot stand
much longer. I ache to sew my skin
back together; my blood is not for you
to gawk at, close your weeping mouth! Even
breathing is such a performance when bound by
the chains you’ve placed on my throat. Of course, a
thing like you waits for me to dance again.
Current Issue 2026 