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The Dancer
Her entire body aches, 
 Each muscle screaming out for relief, 
 Only to be pulled harder, stretched longer. 
 The bodice, a python around her ribs, 
 Makes her gasp for air
 That never fills her lungs completely
 The very fibers of the cotton 
 Weave themselves into her flesh, 
 Continuously constricting 
 As sweat soaks through them. 
 Layers of limp tulle 
 Cling around her thighs, 
 Swishing painfully with her every movement.
 The tights, so aptly named,
 Encase her legs like melting wax on a wick, 
 Growing warmer with each liquid bead of sweat. 
 Both numb and bursting with needle-like pain,
 Her feet burn, blister, and tear
 Within the satin and burlap boxes 
 That form a furnace around her toes. 
 Bullets shoot up her toes, arches, ankles 
 Each time she agonizingly places her weight 
 Unto the miniscule area of the tip of her toe shoe. 
 Hour after torturous hour, 
 The shouted reprimands from the mistress, 
 Thumping of blood in her head, 
 Rasp of air in her lungs,
 Mix in agonizing symphony.
 Too much, too much! 
 Seizing the first brief opportunity 
 Between cruel combinations, 
 She collapses onto a bench,
 Tears leaking into her eyes. 
 Under the guise of adjusting her slipper, 
 She hangs her head, 
 And lets the tears come 
 For a fleeting moment, 
 Before rising to dance again.
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