The Dancer who rises

Dear Audience,

Curtains, red lipstick, and pointe shoes. Isolated, on durable medical equipment. My expression clouds my task, now I start to wonder. Doctors and family all talk about it, around me but not to me. I'm exceeding the limits they set upon me at birth. I'm under your skin, running through your mind, detached. My pacemaker, an understanding of self-worth. Ticking like your heart beat, locking in sync with time. Crying release, deafening screams. Phenomenal awareness of existence. I'm trying to get something off my chest, but the scar stays to remind me to survive. Leaving a weight so great, my body begins to crack. All I want to do is yell, but this weight is hell. There should be a bulletproof vest to protect the mark left on my chest. Leaving something to aim at. When the audience gets this viewpoint, I am the deer in lights cluttered by fear. Out in the crowd I can see friends staring. Behold the anger I strive to let go. Every Pirouette and jump is another count. How could I be so angry about the device that saved my life? Electrical impulses control the speed and rhythm of my heartbeat. Overcoming my complication takes all my determination and stamina. Informed that if I want to be able to live with my peers and family, and reach all my dreams that this is a consequence I live with. I am in a spotlight; I have to give everyone a show. My doctors constantly say I will be making history. This niña knows cracks will come, but nothing can break her. I am ready for the applause. The hardest routine  is over. Congratulations for a good show and on to the mathematics race. Thanks to my pacemaker, I am ready to be me again, no longer afraid. Crossing the stage feeling brand new. Nothing can stop me now.

signed Amayia