Perfection

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Cuts and bruises scar the dancer’s feet,
Her knees are rough and blue,
A reminder of how many times the floor caught her swiftly.
Muscle erupts in her back at every motion she throws,
And her concentrated brow and arms channel perspiration.
Her body glistens and her hair is stringy and damp,
Whipping in rhythm at her face
As she turns, turns, turns…

Her foot catches and she tumbles sideways,
The world still turns, turns, turns…

Again,
Her feet find their place and their beat.
Her figure embodies the spirit springing from the music.
The balls of her feet skip,
As though air floats between herself and the ground.
She lifts her arms and leaps,
A flexed and powerful athlete,
Defying even gravity.

Her face is the portrait of determination.
Her toughened skin is the canvas of the art.
Her soul, the music
That keeps her turning, turning, turning…

She is grace,
She is determination,
She is polished perfection.





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