she extended her slender arm to mine
and whispered "come with me"
she brought her leg into an arabesque
and demanded i did the same
quietly i examined her
trying to figure out who she was
she was mystifyingly beautiful,
she promised she had the answer to all my problems
i watched her jeté
and relevé into pointe
in awe i stood back,
until finally joining her pas de deux
we became inseparable,
she lifted me up and i clung to her in desperation
with every perfectly partnered pirouette,
i began to mirror her
she told me her name was ana,
and that to be a partner of hers was an honor
i believed her.
i believed what i was being told.
with her, i went from the chubby girl in the back
to the slim soloist in the front
until we started to fall out of sync.
i couldn't catch up with her
my heart seemed to leap
just as we did across a stage
i begged her for a break
i begged her for sustenance
she told me just keep dancing.
just keep dancing.
you're almost there!
she pushed.
you're almost as good as me!
and oh, how i wanted to be as good as her
then a doctor told me what was really going on.
she was no friend. she was no good.
"she" was a dangerous, mental illness
that was trying to kill me
she led me away from each of my friends
she deteriorated me into a shadow of my former self
i stopped dancing that day.
with ana, with myself, with anyone
i started a new routine
i started to build myself back up
i may no longer be able to raise myself en points
but i can lift a fork to my mouth without shaking
i may no longer fit in my leotards
but i can walk up stairs without black spots
i may no longer dance,
but i am free.
