My heart is pounding
in my throat
as I run to take my place
in the backstage wing.
Shoving and pushing through
never ending layers
of dancers and stage managers.
The smell of hairspray itches at my throat.
The air is thick with
sweat, tears, anxiety, and hairspray.
I start lightly prancing in place,
with feet as silent as a
fox ready for kill.
Other competitors shove me
up against the curtain.
The thick, red velvet
sticks to my sweaty face.
My heart starts to pounding
like a thousand drums
loudly being smacked
as they announce my dance.
The blinding stage lights block
my sight.
The crowd claps and yells,
practically bursting my ear drums.
As I step on stage,
the burning hot stage lights
burn holes through my skin.
All I can see is black.
It suddenly becomes so silent that
all that can be heard is my
heavy breathing.
The stage is calling for me.
I walk deeper into the light.
I take a deep breath.
All the endless hours of practice
have lead up to this
perfect moment
I know this is my time.
My time to dance.
Porcelain Prose 