I could feel the pulling of the gel,

Pulling my hair back,

Keeping it in a sleek bun.

As I walked into the studio,

It felt cold like a strong wind on an icy road.

You could fall at any time,

Cold, and paralyzed

I danced in the sun bathed studio everyday,

But today it was different.

Still sunbathed, but this time with a table

Pushed up against the mirror

Numbers on people.

Anxious silence filling the room.

It was blaring in the open ears

Of all the girls clutching a netted bag below them.

Filled with shoes that would soon hit the floor,

And everyone hoped,

They would have a mind of their own,

For everyone else’s was open but

blank.

But occupied, nevertheless.

The blank stares everyone gave each other

Made it seem as though all emotion had been plucked 

By the number on everyone’s chest.

The masks concealed blank mouths,

Though you could not see them.

You could tell,

There were no smiles.

Not today in the presence of the darkness on

A yellow notepad

In the center of the old rickety table,

And the whispering that gave people hope.

It was as though a heartbeat was in the middle of the room,

Beating loudly,

So everyone could hear.

Or it was your own heartbeat.

You’ll never really know,

For everyone is hearing the fear beat inside of them

As though it would someday consume them,

And the blank expression would become one of sadness.

But whether or not despair will take you in her hands

Will be determined on Thursday.