Into your veins

Dance.

I never mentioned how gracefully I spun across the stage in my silk and wooden ballet shoes. I never mentioned how strong my arms looked and felt above my head. I never mentioned how easily I was lost in the soft music. I never mentioned how innocent I was.
But.
Ballet was not my dance.

They called me 'hips n hair'
Oh dear god I probably sound like your grandmother telling you another tail of when she was a belly dancer.
But no.
My hips snapped like stock whips and my hair whipped waves of wind that blew you away as you became lost in the caramel colour. A fast beat and dancing partner that was ready to break the rules was all I needed. Grab me here, grab me there, change your stance and throw me in the air. Running across the mats, hooking my arms behind your knees and cartwheeling as you held my hips and supported me. A prep. You grabbed my hips and threw my high. I landed on your open, palm up hands with a smile. You lift me a tad higher, push my feet together and drop me. Supporting me by holding my waist on the way down. We smile and the song changes.
My hips swing and snap as cheeky grins play across our faces. We can already feel that after this dance, it's gonna go down in the dressing rooms. We strut across the mats, opposite directions. I hear a snap. Actually, felt it before I heard it.
I came crashing down.
I whispered a sweet sorry as I looked down and saw the dance teacher take off my shoe.
The blood poured out and the bone stood out more than my toe.
I passed out from the shock.
And.
There.
Is the end.
Of what could've been a very exciting dance career.