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In Her Mother's Footsteps

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Spinning and twisting the contours of her body
The eloquent dancer shimmered in the light.
She bends her waist so her pain and anguish
Empties during her plie’. Her exhaustion is
Plainly etched on her face but she can not stop.
She has to reach perfection. Merengue, bachata,
Ballet, Lancers, Port de Bras, she must perfect it.
One, two, three, four, point, flex, point, and flex;
The melody forms her arms and torso to the beat of
The chorus, then, the romantic dulcet stops.
She collapses, fighting her own euthanasia. Even
With the shards of torment teasing her limbs,
She gets back up when the music proceeds. She’ll
Have another fifteen minutes added to her strive to
Greatness. All she wants is the life of the everyday
Teenager. Maybe go out to the movies one night,
God forbid if she have popcorn. But instead of living
The glories of falling in and out of love, or staying
Up late at sleepovers talking about who is taking
Who to prom, she’s stuck; living her mother’s dream.



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