discipulapoeta

When I look in the mirror, I see a teenage girl. I see a relatively short person with long brown hair. I see someone who's an adult to some people, and a child to others. But who am I? I identify as a reader, a writer, a student, a teacher. At my core, I see a person who loves words and language and stories. I identify as a dancer. I see a person who loves movement and music and the ability to express feelings without words. Why? I love words and stories and dancing and movement because they are all forms of self expression. They all allow you to pour your emotions and energy into the world. Writing lets you take yourself out of the world y

I look into my past and see a series of choices that led me to this moment. Some of those choices were made by me. Some of those choices were made by those around me. Some of those choices where made by people who I have never met, and will never meet. Every one of those choices changed by life in some small way, or in some large one, and led me to this moment. I look into my future, and see a series of choices leading into the distance. Some of those choices are made by others. Most of them are made by me. Every moment after this one has multiple possible outcomes, and which will become reality has not yet been determined. In the future, I

She stands erect at the barre, left hand resting gently on the metal, right arm floating at her side. Her legs are perfectly straight, her hips rotates outward, and her feet turned out, heels together. As the music begins, she begins the preparation, letting her arm float out  and back in  before she moves it forward and to the side, letting it rest in second position. Before it’s been there for more than a moment, she bends her knees, pulling her arm back to her side to let it float back out and in again. She pulls back up to plie once again, this time letting her arm float to the front before coming back around into second position.

You are the girl I think about every day. The girl who I have known nearly her entire life. The girl who's life is so interconnected with mine in so many ways. The girl who knows me as well as my own family does. The girl who's basically an addition to my family. The girl who can do anything she put her mind to. The girl who can paint, and knit, and fish, and dance, and do it all perfectly. The girl who climbs trees and swims in lakes and dances in the grass. Where did that girl go? You are her, but she is not you. You are the girl who cries herself to sleep. The girl who won't eat. The girl who doesn't talk. The girl who can't bear to look