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Dancer

The job of a dancer is very difficult. No matter what happens when we're dancing, we must stay calm and push on. If we hurt, we ignore it, pretend the pain doesn't exist. If we fall, we stand right back up and act as if it never happened. And if we're supposed to smile, we smile, no matter what we're feeling on the inside. 

Dancing is my escape. I love it more than anything else, because although I'm glued to the ground, I feel as though I'm flying. Emptying has ever made me feel the way dance does. Every fear, every mistake just disappears.

But dance is also my prison. I'm forced to dance. Everyday. I don't get to choose when I dance, or how I dance. They do. The big people. They turn the little knob, music plays, and I spin, all for their amusement. And when they're finished, when my dancing can no longer keep them entertained, they lock me up. Close the lid over me, so I can't see anything. And like a good girl, a good dancer, I keep it together. I hold my position. My smile never wavers. 

After all, that's the job of a dancer. 



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