Higher

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is a piece I wrote about a ballerina who wants to be able to jump higher in her dance. She begins dieting and it spirals way out of control until... she can't jump at all.

Submitted: May 10, 2012

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Submitted: May 10, 2012

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And she's not eating again.

Baby, you weigh only sixty-eight pounds.

Beautiful ballerina. 

Pink leotards and ballet shoes lay forgotten in the hall.

Will you ever dance again.

She sits in her bedroom while we eat dinner.

Smoking cigarettes.

Pale, pale girl. 

Fragile girl.

Broken girl.

Fix me.

Fix me.

Her hunger is a hurricane. blowing through like a thousand fists beating her insides.

Baby, I can see your bones.

But you can't.

Why can't you see?

Why can't you see?

Why can't you see?

She's like a bird.

Hear her sing.

Her tune:

Thin, thin, thin, thin,

Be thin, very thin,

Now stay thin,

Be thinner, thinner,

You're not thin enough,

Thin, thin, thin

Always thin.

Baby, I'm scared to touch you. 

Scared I'll hurt you, scared I'll bruise you.

Baby, what have you become?

Who are you?

I don't know you anymore..

She's trapped in a cage, humming:

'Coffee and smokes

And cold diet cokes

That's what pretty girls are made of.'

Am I fat?

Please, no more games.

Am I fat?

I'm not answering you.

Am I fat?

Stop.

Am I fat?

No, no you're not.

Yes I am.

Fine. You're fat!

I know.

Baby, you weigh only sixty pounds.

When are you going to stop?

Baby, you're so cold.

Shivering.

Shivering.

Shaking.

Shaking.

Quivering.

Quivering.

Quaking.

Quaking.

Goal Weight - Death.

She only wanted to jump,

Higher.

Lovely girl,

Lonely girl,

Lost little girl,

Ate too much, cut too deep, you'll take months to heal.

Brittle bones,

Frail girl,

It's so painful to lie down,

Awake - with twenty bruises on your spine,

From your mattress.

Classical music.

Stravinsky, Chopin, Bach and Beethoven.

Now she can't dance at all.

Baby, you're a butterfly.

You're collar bones could catch the rain.

Can't I do something to help you?

Let me help you.

Let me help you.

Let me help you.

She only wanted to jump, 

Higher.

Beautiful ballerina. 

She's beyond help.

Oh, think of the clothes I'll wear.

Think thin, think skinny,

Think hipbones, think ribs

Think wrists, think fingers,

Think about the looks,

Think about the second glances,

Think about the melting fat,

Think about the protruding bones.

It hurts to stand, it hurts to walk and run and dance, it hurts to take baths, it hurts to get dressed, it hurts to breath. Make it stop. It hurts so bad.

She only wanted to jump,

Higher.

Now she can't jump at all.

Baby, you weigh only fifty-five pounds.

As light and thin as air.

Baby, you're like a feather.

A feather.

Fluttering in the air.

Too small for children's clothes.

They hang off her body.

She smokes pot and cigarettes.

She drinks a lot of coffee.

Her insides feel twisted with pain.

Her bones are caving in.

Can't eat.

Can't eat.

Can't eat.

She had an accident.

After taking one hundred laxatives.

Skeletal girl,

Wasted girl,

Skinny, skinny bitch.

Throw a tantrum, 

Break the mirror,

Break the scales,

break your bones

Skinny, skinny bitch.

She's a monster.

She's a monster.

She frightens young children.

She frightens young children.

Lock her away.

Lock her away.

Wait for the day.

Wait for the day.

The day she fades away.

Baby, you weigh only forty-six pounds.

Buried in the ground.

Why did you have to go this way.

Why did you have to go this way.

Why did you have to go this way.

Oh, when she danced onto the stage,

Beautiful ballerina,

Twirling and whirling and leaping and swirling

I only wish you could have seen her...

At least she won't be remembered as the fat girl.

She only wanted to jump,

Higher.


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