The announcer screams my name out from the mic, the crowd goes wild, the
curtains rise and I step forward. The blinding lights come on and the
They tell me “I’m the most phenomenal dancer of my generation”,
“I am God’s gift to the art of dance”, “I recreate certain pieces to
seem so flawless and easy”, “I am the most captivating dancer of my
time”. But little do they know.
When I dance, I don’t dance to entertain or to please, I dance
to escape my captivity. The fame, the wealth and the glory are all
collateral damage for doing the one thing I love so much in this world
that can’t be taken away from me. I dance for my own personal liberation
but that is knowledge known only to me and a close few.
With each step, turn, twirl, kick, punch, roll I’m beating the
boards of the wooden coffin I’ve been confined in. I’m fighting my own
battle with demons I’ve seen too often in nightmares. With each leap in
the air, I’m longingly reaching for the top of the grave which I had
been buried. With each plunge forward, my lungs search for air, fresh
air untainted with death, blood and filth. With each drop to the floor
I’m anticipating my end. And with each rise I’m defeating my
But no that is not what they see, they see a young lady of 16
with the flexibility and energy never experienced on a stage anywhere in
the world before. What they see is perfection of a routine they think
took me long hours of practice to perfect not long hours of heart
wrenching nightmares. What they see is a perfect dancer.
They do not see me as I am, as I truly am.
I am a girl fighting for her life.