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Music Box Ballerina
May 20, 2013
I wanted to know that I was real
and not blown from glass,
a music box ballerina
with a searing hot heart.
The painted lid is lifted
and I’ve no choice but to
spin and spin and spin;
my expressionless face is flawless,
except for a crack beneath my jaw.
Sunlight is traded for forced music;
I gasp and stutter in it,
used to darkness.
Dazzled, I shy from the rays,
and dumbfounded, wish for clouds.
I cannot stretch and bathe
in the sun shards;
I do not deserve it.
© Amelia B., Philadelphia,PA
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