My Pointe Shoes

Clunk, Clunk, girls stepping up onto pointe,
Like a skeleton cracking a joint,
With rocks shoved at the toes,
Ballerinas’ wooden feet, beautiful as a rose.

Ballet ribbons, hair-sprayed down,
No one dancing like a clown,
Dreaming of true ballerina shoes,
Without them I would have the blues.

Trying on one thousand pairs at a time,
But the first pair I tried was mine,
They smiled at me,
I was full of glee.

Slip, slop, I slid them on,
I felt like a spark of Argon,
Satin and smooth to feel,
Wearing them I feel like steel.

Dancing, I feel as if I’m flying,
Like a butterfly trying,
When I’m done my feet are dying,
Sometimes I feel like crying.

I feel like a true ballerina with them,
They’re truly as beautiful as a gem.