My old Altius grip bag
     I see the foggy, tainted, white clouds of powdered chalk fill the air,
          squinting my eyes and waving my hands about to end its blinding fury.
My hands
     bubbling with pain-induced water and blood blisters,
          screaming out to find another way around the uneven bars,
          searching for an escape.
My savior: Reisport grips
     the ultimate, red and white, super-gymnast shield,
gliding with me through every kip and giant,
and sticking ever layout dismount with me, too,
retiring each day to a zebra-print Altius grip bag, tossed over to the beam mats.
Next stop- the balance beam,
     a dodger blue blur constantly below me;
          some days to catch my teeter, trip, or trail down to the ground,
          and others to provide reassurance to my confident and controlled tricks.
Quiet control is key
     my wide feet had a grounded grasp on the smooth, sandy, brown beam,
never surrendering in silent, violent warfare with gravity,
always catching the surface after every pirouette, leap, and backwalkover.
     Sticking my turning handstand dismounts back on dodger blue, and walking off to the floor.
Fuego, Fuego
     sound the skilled violins in my floor solo song,
a grand salute followed by quick movements of precision and strength.
     I’m soaring through the air with my favorite front handspring front tuck sequence.
A back walkover smoothly and seamlessly transitioning into a back extension roll,
ranking in at a close second favorite of mine by a few tenths of a point.
My feet pounded into the springy floor over and over again
just so I could not only reach my goals, but master the tumbling,
make it look effortless, and strive higher for the next goal that’s waiting for me.
     But for now, after sticking my final pose, it’s on to the next apparatus; vault.
The table
     sometimes it’s my best friend, and sometimes it’s my worst nightmare.
for starters, it’s the reason I have an uneven forehead, but that never keeps me away.
     There’s nothing like lining up at my 82.5 inch mark on the tape measure,
bursting off into maximum speed,
plunging down into the springboard with all my might,
and flying up to the table, pushing off into the free, open air,
sticking my hard, focused, and motionless landing with parallel feet;
  I did it.
  I stuck my landing.
From Beam Queen to fourteen;
     routine to unseen-
          I stepped out of the gym, purposely placing a part of my heart behind me.
     9.0 scores, vibrant blue ribbons, and tall, shining trophies aren’t given away,
they’re rightfully earned through cliche blood, sweat, and tears.
My blood, sweat, and tears.