ballerina named B.

I saw her on the stage,

twirling, spinning, floating delicately.

A cherry blossom budding in the spring,

a daisy turning its face to the sun.

She made starvation look beautiful,

she made sickness look easy.

After the show, I went to shake her hand,

to congratulate her on the stunning unfolding

and folding of her limbs.

I told her I hoped to be just like her,

soon.

She looked at me through gentle eyes,

with gentle lips, she replied:

"Walk in my shoes for a little while;

you'll bleed."

The End

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