Ballerina Flame

I see you
differently,
perhaps,
than you see yourself,

differently
than those who stand to your side,
and watch like spectators
who have come for the show,
as long as it does not get out of hand,
as long as it follows the script;
the script they wrote
so long ago,

without consulting you, the script
you follow so well, so convincingly
that all who saw you,
including you,
believed.

I see you differently,
a ballerina flame,
ready to leap from the stage into the night,
a wildfire, no longer dampened,
but alive, dancing now without music,
save your own.

About this poem

I have a problem. I often believe I see what is not shown. What is underneath a person’s shell. Is it real? Or is it my imagination and romantic nature? I do know know. I only know what I see.

Tom