no one could listen to me
Would it still be an artistic expression
When I am my only audience
All else seeing me on display
standing a top a wooden box,
They all know me as the freak
who’s speaking something with no voice
Not an artist, an inconvenience
There once came a little girl
Who dared stop longer than a minute
Her eyes touching the strings
Her little fingers turning pink
as she pressed harder into
She had the cutest button nose
that she scruched occasionally
Although I couldn’t hear her
but I knew she was humming
pulled her away from the glass
from me, an empty shell of a body
“A Siren! A freak! An inconvenience!”
But this little girl, she resisted
as she looked back, turning
and something in her eyes told me
that she’ll be here again
or maybe with some more friends
Written sometime during the late afternoon of 29 March, 2025 - What a strange day
(Processing a bad experience like a normal person? No, thank you. I’d rather write poetry with weird symbolism, about it