Every night, when the sun finally sets, and creeps below the horizon,
She puts on her armour, a mask, so captivating, it’s what everyone fixes their eyes on.
When the clock strikes ten, just as always, she glides onto the floor,
Perfecting the steps she made yesterday, as well as the day before.
Every night, from ten to twelve she glissades around the stage,
The crowd’s desire to see her dance is her never-ending goal to assuage.
Again and again, the same old dance, the same tedious song.
The crowd admires her, worships her, envies her, but she knows she doesn’t belong.
She continues to smile, so elegant, pristine, not a step that’s out of place,
But she dawns her mask, a blood red barrier, so no one can see her face.
To everyone else she’s portrait of perfection, everyone’s secret heartache.
However, when she takes off her mask and looks in a mirror, all that’s reflected is a mistake.
She abhors the perfect dress, stylish shoes, and her never-ending task,
She longs for a challenge, an adventure, a life, but instead she hides behind a mask.
So every night when the clock strikes ten, she takes in the roar of the crowd,
She smiles and dances, always the same, because it is all that the world has allowed.
