DREAMS LIKE THIS MUST DIE​

​A dancer lithe and limber
Imagines herself with curves.
Coveting the fleshy mounds
She dreamt that they were hers.
 
Wanting to feel beautiful
Her reflection tall and plain
On stage she could be someone else
Forgetting the mundane.
 
Surgically implanted,
They never felt quite right.
Her body once too slender
Became voluptuous overnight.
 
Reflection in the mirror
Now contoured here and there.
Smiling at herself it seemed
A perfect love affair.
 
But illness struck so quickly
The dancer lay in bed.
Doctors were perplexed by this,
“It must be in your head”.
 
Her body worn and withered
Her youth passing her by.
Fear her only lover,
The image was a lie!
 
Vanity is emptiness
She could not now deny;
This curvature meant death for sure
Dreams like this must die.