The Hard Workers

The pale pink skin, moulded to perfection.

Tight, flowing formation, flawless

As I spin and swirl, like a top in sync with the beat,

I am floating, soaring, an angel on a cloud, weightless,

The whole world dances with me.

Bash! Boom! Bosh!

Muscles torn, tense down to my toes,

Blood stuck on the skin like dried gooey mud,

An angel without wings falling, falling,

To hell's opened mouth.

But they are poised and ready for action,

As they stretch and moan,

I can feel their spirit rising,

They hurt but grace, bringing light to the world,

They help me grow stronger, and dance through the sea of tears.

These are my hard workers, my Pointe shoes,

As beautiful and elegant as the sun and clouds dancing across the sky,

As merry as each toss of the waves.