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with the decision i've made:
and also:
these were taken by shiloh, who was laying on her stomach. do ignore my dirty floor.
anyway, some days i feel like this. like "i will miss these things that boys generally do not do," because i've yet to meet a boy who dances en pointe (or, who is allowed to, moreather? and as you can tell from stances i am nothing professional or even polished and probably by rights, given my body and how fat it is, SHOULDN'T be allowed en pointe ... ahem). hell, i've yet to meet anyone like me and i think that's my problem.
i have not been in any sort of class or junk since i was probably 12 or so. street skating and playing music began to take precidence over ice and ballet, and i gave it up and walked into That Situation that since ruined my life. but sometimes i pull the shoes out and pretend my kitchen floor is a stage important. i don't even know the names for half the things i do, and probably none of it exists. i only know that for the moment i feel pretty, and thought "okay, i'm okay as a girl," and that shiloh seems to literally ACHE to wear them someday.
and then the rest comes falling into place--all of which you've already heard, and it all drowns out this whisper; a whisper no louder than the box of pointe shoes sliding along the floor as i rise, up up up.
i'm rising, i'm better off this way. i cannot live in that skin anymore, even if it means some sacrifices.
my void does not want.
-- 2.13.61.
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