Writing Prompt

Once upon a time there was a ballerina box in an antique store and one day a little girl came over with her grandma and declared I want her and she got everything she wanted so of course she got it when she got home she opened it the ballerina danced and danced she kept it open and she kept dancing for 1 hour until the ballerina had enough she stopped dancing and glared at her then little girl Abb...

Stuck.

That’s how I feel.

Stuck in this small jewelry box.

Cursed to forever dance in the same place.

To forever spin.

Around and around.

But that’s when it’s open.

When it’s closed, I’m trapped.

Trapped in this tiny box, forever.

I like to dream though.

Of being free.

I could still be a ballerina, if I wanted too.

I would love to actually dance.

To actually _move._

Or I could be a singer.

A flo...

Mariettes life consisted of two things. Waiting to perform and performing. It was always so dark, waiting, always oh so dark. She would sit, twiddle her thumbs and fidget with her pale pink tutu. Sometimes she would stand up and try to peek outside through the little keyhole in her box. She never saw much though. She liked to listen instead. She stretched, practiced, and waited for her human to co...

She lives for the moments out of the blackness of her room. Moments when she is let out. Even if it is just to dance.

She often imagines the life before this colorless box of a room. Before the solitary sameness of every day.

A life of choice and time biking through the city in a sundress. Bare feet paddling on while smiling and grinning to the people walking along sidewalks in shorts and short...

I live in my box, just stuck in an awkward pose; waiting for someone to open my box so I can finally move for their amusement. But, unfortunately, at this moment, it seems that my box is not “modern” enough for people to open it. I have been left inside my dusty, old, wrecked box, and that I am lost at some place. I would not know where….because I AM STUCK IN THIS BOX ….of mine so I can only see ...

I can’t see anything, I am encapsulated in darkness. My porcelain body is pressed perfectly into the indent where my body rests. I know that I wear a pink dress and pointed shoes. I know that my arms and backs of my hands are pale and that they shine. I know that the walls around me are made of wood, painted pink and white with gold trim. I am only reminded when someone is kind enough to unlach th...

This isn’t going to work

one word after another word changes nothing

besides I’m fine

I’m always fine

even when I’m not

maybe it’s because my life is one long

piece of performance art

falling somewhere between

high church ministrel and gallows humor circus

the music plays

and look at me dance

always twirling

command performance

with a smile

or not

who cares I’m fine

sometimes yeah it’s too mu...

As I walk into my room, a burning sensation grows between my thighs. Skin chafes against skin, feeding the fire of pain and irritation. Until now, I couldn’t acknowledge the rashes growing redder with every step. I peel off my leotard, the sweat on my skin clinging to the thick fabric. When I struggle to pull my legs out, I see the rips in my new tights, I see my mother’s money thrown out the wind...

Prim and proper when they open up the box.

I dance and try to hide my cracks.

“Make them happy. Make them happy”

The light fades as the box closes.

Did they see the blood on my dress? Did they see the scars on my face? If they did they might throw me away!

Live in constant fear of rejection.

Life is surly worse than death....

My feet glued into fifth position. The springs age like a grandparent. The mirror smushes me down. The box felt so empty, small, smushed, sad. Paint chipped off the box as if it was old memory’s.

————/ me no feel like finishing this but i dont wanna leave it rotting in my drafts sooo/————...