Delicate

When she was born, she was light as a feather.

Her mother said she would grow to be one of those girls

who walked with effortless grace.

She’d have the body of a dancer,

so light on her feet that she’d barely leave a footprint.

When she was ten, she was kept on a tether

Her mother told her she had to be one of those girls

who always had a smile on her face.

She needed the body of a dancer,

so the other girls would think she’s beautiful.

When she was fifteen, she was light as a feather.

Her mother said she was one of those girls

who should get special care. Just in case.

She had the body of a dancer who’d been pushed too far

who seemed so frail she might snap.

When she was gone, no one came together.

Her mother said she was one of those girls

who walked with grace, a smile on her face.

She could have been a dancer, but instead

she walked so light she left no footprints.