Ethics, talent, grace and vision.

So strong that no one could make an incision— on the intrinsic value that is fostered from within.

When they try to cut a place for themselves into my rare cry, I recognize the clown in their game. For every last one ends up being the same.

I see the young child behind their eyes. My sons, my daughters, my children, they become.

They watch.

As I rise on stage pouring my heart into the art. Setting the notch— where the barriers are down and we are one.

Now, the performance is done. I remove the garments of my day.

Where the straps of my tights and slippers have left cuts, as expected, nary dismay— nor free.

These scars by choice and autonomy.

Blood, sweat, and tears, they say.

Where my children can learn a few things, should the attention be paid.