Practice. Practice. Practice.
I've always wanted to be the type of person other people wanted to be, aesthetically speaking, but who am I? No one. Truly no one. No one wants to be no one. I've got two cousins who are ballerinas, beautiful, thin, talented, and aesthetically they're wanted; they're people other people want to be. Sometimes I wonder what life would be like if I haven't given up on ballet after two weeks as a kid. Sure, I hated it. The stretches and the outfit that hugged my prepubescent body too tightly, and the annoying Stepford preteens in their matching tutus in various pastel colors. If only I were the daughter my mother wanted. The ballerina, thin and simply feminine, girly and proper, who doesn't burp "like a man" and hates to dance and wear dresses for extended periods of time.
Stories, Poems, and Random Smatterings.
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