She danced under the light of the moon, a goddess etched in spring's caress. She laughed. Footsteps approaching, fast and aggressive. They told her she could. They told her that she was good enough. They sang for her, granting voice to her steps. She glowed under the stars. She kept dancing, her feet moving faster and faster as she teased the song into chasing her. They obliged, the melody picking up speed in time with her feet. Her heels slammed into the pavement, harder and harder, till she thought she might snap. The music was in control now, not her. It was going too fast. They told her she was almost there. Almost. But not there yet. They told her to try harder. She started listening. One step forward, three steps back. She tried so hard. She tried and she tried and she tried and she tried and she tried and she tried and she tried and she tried and she tried and she tried and nothing ever worked and she was tired of trying and her steps slowed. She was sick of dancing. Their voices got louder and louder and she felt herself falling, like a leaf from a tree, a droplet from a waterfall, a girl childish enough to dream. They screamed now. Their loud, grating voices were all she heard. The berating never stopped. She felt herself getting angry. Five swans flew overhead, dancing on the ribbon of wind. They sang praises. They were getting better. They were there. The voices saved them. So why didn't they save her? She felt like she was drowning under the weight of the screams, the endless pressure, the echoes working their way into the crevices of her brain. She snapped. But she was all out of anger. So all she could do was cry. She sobbed on the linoleum floor of the bathroom, cursing herself for not getting it. It was her fault. She wanted to scream. She was drowning, caught in a landslide that everyone was able to escape but her. She was buried under the rubble, forgotten, the object of cautionary tales and prayers that they wouldn't end up like that. The voices quieted to hushed murmurs, but it didn't matter. They were in her head now. Whenever she closed her eyes, her ears filled with screams. She tried to pick up her feet and dance again. But she couldn't, because all she could hear was the siren sound of s c r e a m i n g. The moon still shines on the pavement. But she dances no more.
to anyone who has ever felt this way- there is shame in giving up. but there is no shame in recognizing your limits. it's not a bad thing to quit. we learn from every experience, even those that don't go well. it takes courage to step back. keep trying, and know that even if it doesn't seem like it, someone is rooting for you. I am! but if it's too much, it's okay to stop or take however much time you need. your mental health is more important than whatever it is that's causing you so much stress. IF IT'S NOT FUN ANYMORE, OR IF YOU ONLY FEEL DREAD WHEN YOU THINK ABOUT IT, IT'S NOT WORTH IT. please prioritize yourself <3 +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ a short poem thingy I wrote to work through my eMotiOns. *shudders* usual rules apply, no hate speech, however constructive criticism is always welcome, and absolutely no stealing my work. plagiarism is like plaque on teeth. it builds and builds until it rots everything away. idk guys I just made that up. :$ might eventually put the words in the project and like make background or smthn but I'm lazy rn
