Dance Sweet Ballerina
The ballerina floats in her pink shoes, with ribbons that criss-crossed all the way up to her calves. She spins and dances and she never tires, never falls.
That is me, she whispers softly, me in my dream, but wide awake I slip I fall, I bruise and I am tired, wide awake I fall.
She cries, tears in her eyes, mummy I hate this take off my shoes. Tears stream down my face. But my dear Sarah I whisper, Sarah my dear, you look so beautiful in those pretty pink shoes.
She knows not how pretty she is in her little pink tutu and her little pink ballerina shoes. She is pretty in my sight and I hope she would keep on dancing, my little pink ballerina in her pink shoes.
The thing is, she falls in those shoes, but those were the most precious times for me. Those are the times I get to pick her up, and wipe her tears, and those are the times she says to me, mummy hold my hand until I float again. I hold her hand time and again and watch her as she dances, my little pink ballerina, precious in my sight.
No matter what the world sees, she is pretty and precious in my sight.
I once created a world in my head for my little Sarah. A world only I see, a world where all is perfect, and where she floats, and will never fall. I think of this world each time she falls and smile and nod at her to get up. The ballerina will always see herself fall, but I, I will see the ballerina that floats. If only she could see herself, through my eyes.
Over the years the same thing over I tell her. But you look so pretty in those pretty pink shoes. And today she stands waving her hands to me. With sparkling eyes she exclaims to me, Mummy I dream of that ballerina too, pretty in her ribbons and pink shoes, I know your secret I see it in your eyes, and so I will try, to float not fall. Because I am pretty in your sight, I will keep on trying to dance.
And then one day she falls pretty bad, her knees buckled and she folded onto her ankles. It was but a bad sprain, but she was in pain, and she swore and swore she would never dance again. So my sweet little girl she limps up the stairs and hangs up her pink little ballet shoes, and then she sleeps, and weeps and weep. An embarrassed little girl she is.
I watch her for days, as she refuses to rise and continues to cry and to curse and to swear. But I know she needs time before stepping out of bed again so I stand by her side, day by day as she wails and shrugs in pain. I stand and smile as she miserably looks down at her ankles and pats and pities herself. And I, feeling her pain, I would weep, at nights, behind doors. And yet I refuse to carry her. For she is too precious, and I could not carry her always.
And then she turns away from me and bitterly points her dreaded finger. It is so painful to walk why don’t you carry me like you used to, she sobs. Dear sarah, dear Sarah it pains me more this way, but you have to learn to walk again, and put on your pretty pink shoes.
She sobs and cries and screams that I had ruined her life, saying she did not want to walk no more. I sigh and watch her from afar as she shut me out of her life. I see her sit and grew some fat as her legs go very numb. I sit and watch in sadness as my dear sweet little ballerina sways from the truth of who she was.
One day she feels a pang of pain, a certain dissatisfaction I think. For she was not doing what she knew she was made to do. And so she stands up and as she takes some steps, and then she walks, and runs again. And as the grace of a dancer wakes up within her, her deep dark eyes sparkled.
Her dreams return in a flood to her, and her heart tingles as she got out of her bed that day, and then she walks and makes her way toward me and took my hand. I want to dance again mummy dearest, please hold my hand. I hold her close and whisper in her ear, you will I said sure and clear as I took her sweet hand.
And she learns to dance again. As clumsy as she is, my eyes could only see her beauty, her grace, just the way she was made. And day by day she starts to dreams again to be that ballerina that never falls.
I hold her hand and teach her to dance, and jump, and float and flee. And when she seems ready I put on her pink shoes for her. She dances and dances every day until she grows stronger and soon she is able to dance without holding on to my hand. She now dances and turns to wave at me as I walk by her side.
And then one day my dear sweet ballerina, she dances up and floats, so graceful and so tall. I smile to myself and wish she could see herself so radiant in my eyes. My little ballerina, always so pretty in my sight.
The ballerina floats in her pink shoes, the ones with ribbons all the way up to the calves. She spins and dances and she never tires, never falls.
That is me, she whispers softly, me in my dream, but wide awake I slip I fall, I bruise and I am tired, wide awake I fall. But I will keep on dancing. Keep on dancing.
Keep on dancing, you will dear Sarah, dance I am here always by your side.