With lips curled around a cigarette,
It is not smoke I exhale.
It is the gracious release of a troupe of dancers
Ballerinas en l'air
Wisps of their tulle skirts
Are joined to their delicate feet
By long twisted ribbons
And I feel the pain in their pointed toes
Rattling in the pit of my lungs.
It is not smoke I exhale.
It is the gracious release of a troupe of dancers
Ballerinas en l'air
Wisps of their tulle skirts
Are joined to their delicate feet
By long twisted ribbons
And I feel the pain in their pointed toes
Rattling in the pit of my lungs.
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.
smileyface96
BrightBurningCampeador
Join the Discussion
This article has 2 comments. Post your own!