Why did you tell me I was not a ballerina?
You could have left me none the wiser and I would have been as happy as a clam,
you and your nonsensical philosophical pessimism had gotten to be a bit much,
a lot much,
What good does it do any of us?
I barked at you until you called me pathological,
and I wanted you to do that,
I did,
deep down,
because I knew where my sanity sat on the spectrum of these things,
What would I have to do to get you to leave me alone?
I think I could just tell you that I did not believe in you anymore,
that I believed only in white ashy spotlights from the projector,
only in make believe,
and I did not care that you thought it silly to believe in make believe,
What could I say?
No more,
nothing necessary for me to leave you behind,
just dreams and my lack of guilt for showmanship,
because this is why I am here,
and you are way,
way over there
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