@kumo_yoko's post on Artfol
— Pointy Shoes —
-5 more stops.
Do I tell her?
...
We sit in silence.
I switch off my phone
Stare out at the blur of cars, pedestrians
Eyes shift toward a little girl at the bus stop, twirling on her feet like the little ballerina in classic music boxes...
I'm getting sidetracked.
-4 more stops.
In less than half an hour's time they'll be paying for my next term
In less than half an hour's time the lesson will start
Then it'll end
Then we'll leave
My chance will be missed.
-3 more stops.
It's been 8 years... I've had enough.
When I first started,
Every step, every jump to the music was filled with enthusiasm and fun
Each weekend at the studio was a break from the stress of school
But as years went by...
I step into the studio and I see competition
Eyes dart around the room searching for the next step
Everyone knows what they're doing
Everyone is so flexible
I'm no longer on beat, my timings messed up
Time.
Maybe I'm wasting my time here.
Wasting money.
Wasting energy.
-2 more stops.
Should I tell her?
I wince at the thought of the pain in pointe shoes
Yet another week... why go through this again?
Where is the joy I felt from dance?
Where is my passion?
-1 last stop.
Its no longer fun. What's holding me back?
Friends.
I may never see them again
Fitness.
Without the workout I get from ballet... what will happen to my body?
Fear.
... I can't tell her...
8 years of sending me for lessons
8 years of paying for it's fees
8 years of supporting me in a passion they all thought I had
And I thought I did, too.
-The bus stops. It's our stop.
If I'm going to quit, I've got to say it now.
The words are clear in my head,
but saying goodbye to something I've done for years... uniformly taking that bus, to that school, at that time was part of my routine.
Part of my life that I knew I was sick of.
Mother holds out her credit card to the all too familiar counter lady. She was now an explosive. The card was a spark.
My heart throbs in an unhesitating tempo
Unforseen, silent tears leak from my eyes as I grabbed her wrist:
"Mom, don't, I'm quitting ballet. "
———
Background:
On what was about to be my last bus trip to the ballet school, so many thoughts were running through my head. I rehearsed the words I was going to say to my mom over and over again, till the last moment. I had to say it on that day, as it was the day for my parents to pay for the next term of ballet lessons, which likely meant that I wouldn't be able to quit till months later.
The title, "Pointy Shoes" refers to the "Pointe shoes" of ballerinas, which was really painful on my toes, just like the pain of quitting something I've done for so many years... This poem concludes my thoughts and feelings as I rode that final bus trip to that ballet school.
———
This is yet another poem written long ago... Which also sprouted from a missing feeling after I quit ballet. I really didn't think I was that sad about it but my own writing says otherwise-
Also, in the original version each first line in the poem was typed in Italics, but sadly it didn't appear here since these text posts don't allow for it ;v;
If there's anyone who actually read till this far, thank you so much :')Nov 30, 2021
-5 more stops.
Do I tell her?
...
We sit in silence.
I switch off my phone
Stare out at the blur of cars, pedestrians
Eyes shift toward a little girl at the bus stop, twirling on her feet like the little ballerina in classic music boxes...
I'm getting sidetracked.
-4 more stops.
In less than half an hour's time they'll be paying for my next term
In less than half an hour's time the lesson will start
Then it'll end
Then we'll leave
My chance will be missed.
-3 more stops.
It's been 8 years... I've had enough.
When I first started,
Every step, every jump to the music was filled with enthusiasm and fun
Each weekend at the studio was a break from the stress of school
But as years went by...
I step into the studio and I see competition
Eyes dart around the room searching for the next step
Everyone knows what they're doing
Everyone is so flexible
I'm no longer on beat, my timings messed up
Time.
Maybe I'm wasting my time here.
Wasting money.
Wasting energy.
-2 more stops.
Should I tell her?
I wince at the thought of the pain in pointe shoes
Yet another week... why go through this again?
Where is the joy I felt from dance?
Where is my passion?
-1 last stop.
Its no longer fun. What's holding me back?
Friends.
I may never see them again
Fitness.
Without the workout I get from ballet... what will happen to my body?
Fear.
... I can't tell her...
8 years of sending me for lessons
8 years of paying for it's fees
8 years of supporting me in a passion they all thought I had
And I thought I did, too.
-The bus stops. It's our stop.
If I'm going to quit, I've got to say it now.
The words are clear in my head,
but saying goodbye to something I've done for years... uniformly taking that bus, to that school, at that time was part of my routine.
Part of my life that I knew I was sick of.
Mother holds out her credit card to the all too familiar counter lady. She was now an explosive. The card was a spark.
My heart throbs in an unhesitating tempo
Unforseen, silent tears leak from my eyes as I grabbed her wrist:
"Mom, don't, I'm quitting ballet. "
———
Background:
On what was about to be my last bus trip to the ballet school, so many thoughts were running through my head. I rehearsed the words I was going to say to my mom over and over again, till the last moment. I had to say it on that day, as it was the day for my parents to pay for the next term of ballet lessons, which likely meant that I wouldn't be able to quit till months later.
The title, "Pointy Shoes" refers to the "Pointe shoes" of ballerinas, which was really painful on my toes, just like the pain of quitting something I've done for so many years... This poem concludes my thoughts and feelings as I rode that final bus trip to that ballet school.
———
This is yet another poem written long ago... Which also sprouted from a missing feeling after I quit ballet. I really didn't think I was that sad about it but my own writing says otherwise-
Also, in the original version each first line in the poem was typed in Italics, but sadly it didn't appear here since these text posts don't allow for it ;v;
If there's anyone who actually read till this far, thank you so much :')Nov 30, 2021
#poem
#nostalgia
#ballet
#dance
#shortstory
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