i always wondered where everyone
got their batteries from
until i realized i
was a wind up toy
not a battery operated one
my spine is an accordion
pushed down with
the weight of some musician
expanded by the same
my heart is a muscle
made of paper and charcoal
my lungs are memory foam
they remember what it’s like
to breathe without you
my brain is an interpreter
for all the battery operated toys
i never got the hang of a second language
maybe because i had already learned one
my mouth wants to tell you things
sometimes i swear it wants to go solo
sometimes i swear i wish it would
tongue tied and teetering on an edge
of course the edge is only five feet
off the ground
i am still afraid to jump
for i’ve been fooled before
If this resonated, share it on Bluesky (or anywhere folks still have an attention span longer than a moth after a sleepless night), leave us a comment, or check out our latest anthologies
Poetry Collection, ‘Is this all we get?’
Prose Collection, ‘ Fifth Avenue Pizza’
Or check out our Objects of Mild Enchantment
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