Tiny Ballerina

March 6, 2011
The path led to the lake
Who guards the secret,
That has yet to be revealed
By the one in the red coat.

It was pitch black
As she crept away from the cabin
That stood lonely in the woods
Far away from any civilization.

The girl walked for endless days and nights,
Flinching every time a squirrel scurried up a trunk,
Afraid it was her captor
Who set out to find the young woman who escaped.

It was miles before she discovered the road,
Through a tiny hole created by the trees,
So she walked and walked,
But it wasn’t as close as it seemed

She emerged from the forest
Covered in leaves and burrs,
With tasseled hair filled with twigs
And bruises all over her body.

There was a path on the other side of the road.
There was a rusty old car driving towards her.
The only option was to take the path,
The one that led to the lake.

The offender drove past the path in the truck,
Hoping to spot a young girl
Around twelve years old
Built like a ballerina with a porcelain face.

Once again the girl walked,
For miles and miles,
For endless days and nights,
Until she saw the reflections of the trees on the lake.

The girl hobbled to the bank,
Famished and parched
From her journey
To recreate herself.


A girl in a red jacket approached
And took her to a house
That was hidden by the trees,
But filled with love, peace and calm.

The little ballerina stayed there,
For days and then weeks and then years.
She created a new identity
And started a new life.

Her family had been dead for years.
Ever since the night she was taken
By a heartless man
Who failed to track her down again.

The tiny ballerina,
With the porcelain face that sparkled in the sun,
Whom no one truly knew,
But whom everyone adored.





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