I know a girl, a dancer
She is small and delicate
With sharp features and big eyes.
Her head hurts her.
she doesn't always say so, But I can tell
I can see it in the way she talks, the way she moves, in her eyes.
The acceptance of pain.
Sometimes I ask her
About the scars on her forearms and shins
She always smiles
She has a way of making me feel smaller than her
Though she is the tiniest person I know.
Not in a bad way though... Actually it makes me feel safe, secure.
She worries a lot.
About the future, about her past
Did she forget to feed the cat? Lock the door? turn off the stove?
Than she cries alone in the corner.
Shoves her face into the pillow to muffle the sobs.
She cries for many things
For her past, her future
her scars
her cat
And because she cannot do the one thing that would make her feel better
As it is, without a doubt, unacceptable
In her chosen profession.
And still her head hurts her.