Tiptoeing around it, waiting in the wings<\/p>\n
The shell of a dancer stands quietly empty<\/p>\n
A self gone to make room for syllables that stung<\/p>\n
This is the price you pay for loss of control.<\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Hurtful words echo through her.<\/p>\n The wait should be ending now.<\/p>\n The guitar is starting, thrumming in her heart.<\/p>\n A beat, a breath, now catch!<\/p>\n Footsteps fading softly, rushing into place.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Marionette strings pulling her along, hiding the emotion.<\/p>\n She is a prisoner to the rhythm, to the set status quo.<\/p>\n A girl trapped in being alone.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n The dancer screaming silently.<\/p>\n Keeping quiet is hard.<\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n A rock n\u2019 roll sonata, the soundtrack to her sorrow.<\/p>\n \u201cEvery line is about who I don’t wanna<\/em>\u00a0<\/em>write about anymore.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n The sardonic pull of a smile makes her different than the rest,<\/p>\n the irony of the words pulling her under.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Deeper she dives until the pressure is too much.<\/p>\n She cracks from the center.<\/p>\n Fissures open through her exposing her interior.<\/p>\n Onstage, an exhibit for anyone to see.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n She thinks the chasms too deep to mend,<\/p>\n A stumble, a beat lost never to be found again.<\/p>\n So away from the rest she leaps<\/p>\n away from the rest she soars.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Footsteps growing louder<\/p>\n Swollen hurt encompassing all,<\/p>\n her wounds driving her along.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n The sound is peaking.<\/p>\n Her movement matching tempo,<\/p>\n the pain providing strength.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n The melody crescendos with an outburst to match hers.<\/p>\n The other dancers begin to follow along,<\/p>\n Her heart is an exhibit that makes the audience know.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n No longer a march to end alone.<\/p>\n This is the price you pay for loss of control.<\/em><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n Every sentence in italics is a lyric from “Okay, I Believe You (But My Tommy Gun Don’t)” by Brand New.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Tiptoeing around it, waiting in the wings The shell of a dancer stands quietly empty A self gone to make<\/p>\n