by Isobel, Grade 11
Lighter than air,
Sweet as a peach,
Pale as a ghost,
And just out of reach,
A top-shelf girl,
In a pink wooden chest,
Every ruffle and curl,
Is looking its best,
On constant display,
But not ever free,
A girl dances alone,
The steps of ballet,
Illusion of freedom,
She’s up on that stage,
Cracked half-moon smile,
From the earliest age,
Toes crushed under weight,
Of the gaze of a man,
The shape of her jaw,
And the way her turns land,
And she wishes sometimes,
She could fall to the ground,
And break and unspool,
Stop this spinning around,
And her crown would then smash,
Her limbs snap in two,
But she could know rest,
For a minute or two,
But instead she’ll keep turning,
Tucked away in her box,
That music still playing,
Her cage is still locked,
Her pointe shoes are bloody,
Her bun is a mess,
Face stained with tears,
Just waiting for rest.