alistair beau / d4 cb (fin)

You've enthralled professors,
broke their wildest expectations,
but it's never enough.
studied countless texts,
sat through prolonged exams,
even picked up a trident
even learnt how to wound
but it's never enough,
for them.
for your parents.

The blisters on your feet
carry stories unknown to others
stories of a swan boy
who pitter-patter out of his house
in the dead of night
and dance the night away
in a perfect place
where the land kisses the sea
the tides rise and fall
a moonshine spotlight
upon every acre of sand
you glissade upon.

they don't see your passion
as a talent.
instead, they brand it
as a weakness.
you're soft, they say.
because you dance.
legs as graceful as a cat
a feathery soul inside of you
keeping you light.

you want to retort
there's fury in your rhythms
a pent-up rage
eager to explode
you're a ticking time-bomb
with wings for hands
and a swan heart.
you aren't soft.
you are gentle.
there's a vast difference
between soft and gentle.