The Twelve Dancing Princesses Inside My Head

With small steps,

Precarious and

Learned yesterday,

She tiptoed to the edge

Of the conscious

Visitor upon whose

Stage she stumbled.

Angry and terse,

She came

Vaulting upon the stage

In a swirl of livid

Tulle

Her voice

Screaming

At the container that held her.

She floated on whimsy,

A ghost of a smile

Upon her face.

Delicate steps

And twirls,

Careful and precious

Was she;

Until the next took hold.

A fruitcake,

They said;

A baker’s dozen

Crammed

Into the mind of one—

Unable to distinguish

Fact from fairytale

Whose fears, unknown,

Waltzed.