Brown girls can do ballet!
I scream to students
Who don’t understand
What it is like
When your life depends on the color and shade of your hands.
I dance in the living room,
Thinking of CHANGE.
My brown skin glows at the center of the stage.
At the age of ten,
I take out the shiny pink shoes
And waltz on the floor
Like I have nothing to lose.
Brown girls can do ballet,
I say to myself—
For I have dealt with worse.
I move my brown body across the floor,
Wanting to move even more
And more.
Move away from racism,
Dance away from pain;
Think of flying in light rain.
I jump, I turn, I try
To burn
The world’s way of thinking
For a better place.
In the theater,
I sit up in the crowd.
Somebody like me
Can see my dream.
On stage, the dancer comes and dances
With the ballerina too;
They float together–birds of a feather.
They join and do a jump,
A turn, and they stay in front.
Brown girls do ballet.
And I will do my pas de chat.
Step of the cat—can you do that?
I move across the room thinking
Of the dancer I want to be
Soon. Maybe
They won’t take me, but they cannot
Break me.
…
About Sofia Prada
As a writer, performer, and creative spirit, I want to move people and make them feel connected to stories that may also inspire them in their own lives. I have an expansive artistic vision that I hope to develop over time in various facets in the arts.
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The Scepter / Matthew Dougherty
She had been walking for an unknown length of time. Only after making a sharp right turn in the labyrinth did she snap out of her daze and realize herself. She stopped for a moment to take in her
Metamorphoses Ode to Ovid / Saschia Johnson
Part I The divine woman rose from the dust of her fallen father and grandfathers. Her naked body warm and beating with life. Her hair so long it brushed the ground she walked on. She was gifted
Brown Girls Can Do Ballet! / Sofia Prada
Brown girls can do ballet! I scream to students Who don’t understand What it is like When your life depends on the color and shade of your hands. I dance in the living room,
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Sarafina Sarsaparilla wasn’t sure why she was here. Sitting in the sheriff’s office, staring at the scratched-up desk made of ebony wood. This, she knew for sure, was the end. She twiddled her thumbs, staring down at them, her wooden chair
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A small satyr climbs into an ancient woman satyr’s lap. The crackling fire in the hearth and the soft red armchair give the sitting room a cozy vibe. “Grammy, tell me again
The Heart’s Feeling of Belonging / Sofia Prada
Translation of Pertenencia by Sophia Prada The heart calls my attention– I am dreaming, but not in a cloud. The heart doesn’t need permission. If you listen closely, it’s like drum music Or, poems, lyrics to grasp your mind,