By: Loving Life as Emma
Prose & Poetry, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Home Should Be Where the Heart Is

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Professional ballerina and my beautiful friend, the kind hearted, Amber Ball

This is a poem I wrote in 6th grade that I found while rummaging through some old things. The colorful, (originally) three page, comic sans piece was one in a series I had written for school and it’s specifically meaningful to me because my teacher’s feedback would go on to keep me writing. She told me that I might want to look into being published in the future which grew my faith in my language and communication skills. My teacher was not necessarily a fan favorite amongst my class, so it was especially impactful for a 12 year old girl who had just moved to a new state with few friends or a sense of identity that a normally tough teacher would see such potential in me. It would still be a long time before I really considered myself a “poet” (I still don’t always consider myself to be one) but I would regard this piece as a pivotal moment in my exploration of the world of storytelling.

Home Should be Where the Heart is

By: Emma Bailey

I walk in the door, special shoes on, hair up for class,
I hope my adored place is not yet gone.
I deceptively look at the young lady in the glass, 
She seems to stare intently right back.
I grip the bar ever so tightly,
And try not to fall as I light-heatedly flip the lights on slightly.
I gently place down my bag and reach for the CD,
When suddenly the room is filled with more than just me.
There are several little girls dressed in a leotard and tights, with their hair in a bun.
I teach them to sway to the music for class has begun.
I can’t wait to see when these girls are dancing and making their own money.
This is the dream that’s been lost by so many.
The parents of these girls work almost as hard as they,
Most working two or more jobs just to pay.
But they know that it will pay off 
When they finally get the day off
To watch their little girls (not so little anymore),
Glide across the pond-like stage floor.
They’ll be infamously making their marks on the cover of magazines.
There will be no way for them not to be seen.
As it is for most anyone to succeed,
They must remember anyone can do anything.
Like the famous Dr. who once had a dream which came true,
It’s time to think about what you can do.
I grab my bag and take my CD,
I let go of the bar I had once clutched so tightly.
I flick off the sun-bright lights very slightly.
Now it hits me as I think about how I have fulfilled my dream.
I take out my hair, and change out my shoes.
The studio is beyond me; out the door is now where I choose.
Yes, many have made choices wrong, 
But as for me I know where I belong.
Many people have made mistakes,
But I know the path I must take,
And absentminded choices I will not make.
I gently push the door closed behind me, towards the past.
I walk down the parking lot and take my last glance back.
A tear slyly crawls down my cheek as I give soundless sobs.
Yet still I know I must move on.
My mind goes still with memories and flashbacks from when I was two.
Dancing was the one and only thing I ever wanted to do.
Now I am not naive and I know there is more to life
Then just what I want, although it’s been nice.
I have now realized my sobs have turned to blubbering cries,
My heart has been set on fire, turned hard and crystallized.
My once soft heart has been torn and ripped, 
But still I know where I’m going and I won’t forget it.
A magnet is pulling me back,
Trying to keep me clung to the past.
This had always been my nightmare,
My sacred fortress being burned down and destroyed.
I feel evil messing with my emotions but I won’t be treated as a toy.
This place. My place will always hold a special place in my heart.
Of course it’s been holding me happily hostage from the start.
Forever and always that sanctified place will be mine, 
Forever and always where my soul lies.
Forever and always even long after I die,
Forever and always, my heart lies inside.

Post reading reflections–

It’s crazy after reading this to think about the many ways this still relates to my life, almost prophetically in some ways. When I wrote this it was just a fictional story, this never actually happened. I wasn’t a dance teacher and I never saw my dance studio get torn down. Though I did start dancing when I was two and I have had an on-again, off-again relationship with dancing and performing that is reflected pretty accurately in this poem. I just can’t believe that 12 year old me would be able to capture that and that looking back as 21 year old me this story would feel relatable at all. I think it also captures the feeling for anyone who has deeply loved and lost anything which is maybe another reason why I relate. Something really crazy though is that I was actually in Colorado for just one day a few weeks ago and we did drive by one of my old dance studios which actually wasn’t there anymore (fortunately just because they moved to a bigger building– yay art!) but still that feels a bit eerily ironic.