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the caged bird doesn’t sing anymore It beats the bars with bloody wings the certain is drawn up against the side of the stage, leaving the frightened young girl to dance in front of peers. parents, and teachers. she does not sweat. she glistens with all the makeup her mother caked on. no voice was needed. only the muscles that could deliver the performance. her leotard does not show under the pink getup her teacher had reserved for this night for her to wear. brand new is fit her flawlessly. perfectly. her face is paled until the music starts. her arms swing out and her legs begin to spin, her frame curving over the stage. her acute features are tense in concentration, staring at the ground and then at her parents, a smile falling over her face. her blonde hair is combed back in a bun, hidden by the lace she wore. the dance is impeccable. as it ends she takes a bow and turns to face the wings. she walks away and never looks back. the stained valkyrie watched the gathering around the new one. she wasn’t the freebie to hurt anymore. her movements to join are slow, and drawn out. she felt out of place. she knew no one well enough to even call them by their first names. threads trail behind the elongated form, the alacrity growing and carrying her closer. her feature hide as she comes close. her distance is kept as she watches them poke and prod. she felt for her. she hadn’t been poked at. it had been nice. a once in a lifetime thing. something she would forget over time. outlets follow the movements of styx. she was a special thing, wasn’t she. off in her own world. she would have to meet her. sometime. the distance remains far, her vocals heard by no one. she would meet and greet after she felt like a some one. not a no one. the article says I am me caged on her way to see the wizard program shows nothing adored by no one past shows no parentage record is blank warming up to dare devil and the red call me by my own name no one cares |