In a bottle I was raised,
wishing to become a ballerina.
Evenings spent training,
for the promise of making it
lied outside locked doors.

Knock, knock,
I’d knock each sunrise
when opportunities rose.

A grin escaping each time
from my father’s lips,
for he knew what
was bound to happen.

Sit, sit,
he’d ask.
And I’d swallow
each poison he’d bring.

Slowly,
my legs un-functioned.
My arms immobilized,
and so did my heart,
which by then was only a pebble.

Kayla Matus is majoring in Creative Writing at Arkansas Tech University. She has been the editor of her University’s Nebo, Literary Journal, and has also been published there. In her free time, she enjoys watching old cartoons and completing puzzles.