Little Wind Up ~

Little Wind-Up ~

I'm interested in you-

But, you never answer my texts,

And yet, I simply wanted to know . . .

Why it was so difficult,

For me to be,

Your thing . . .

Did I have mediocre talent?

Or was I just . . .

Too plain?

Did you ever think that I-

Perhaps, had more than song,

Within the soft folds-

And ridges of my sheik sweater-

Hugging upon the ridges of my,

Rising breast-

When I breathed inward?

And that perhaps, you could feel more . . .

Than just my heart's simple beat?

Squished up in my seat this way-

I think . . .

I have faith that,

Extends beyond the matrix,

Of these sandwiched bodies, hot-

And sweaty as they,

Might chance to be, on the NYC,

Subway system.

Predictably so . . .

I sleep . . .

There is no love in my heart.

I am feeling cold.

It's a fathomless, black, empty setting for me within the . . .

Surrounded by the multiple waves of sound-

Voices, that resound,

Bats in a cavern with cantankerous wings,

Rusted and weary, as they . . .

Were once wind up things,

Now forgotten in their dreary state,

Of existence-

A condition which they,

Might have predicted if they,

Has been able to think in,

A broad extent . . .

But now they are, simply,

Things, which fly over,

This cavern's length,

Whistling their tuneless sigh,

A pointless, dreary din-

Echoes of hearts, and love, and feelings which once,

Made 'some sense' . . .

And now, they are simply toys,

With strings and corks that wind around-

And make them zoom around this . . .

Cavern's wide circumference-

They are like the Disney cavern bats,

These silly minds,

That don't really understand the way,

I work,

And think . . .

Or anything about the human soul, consisting-

They are simply toys . . .

Toys that squash me,

Into this tiny seat,

From all sides-

From which my mind bursts forth expands, exuding-

Love and beauty,

'Tangible things' . . .

From somewhere deep-

Deep, deep down, in the center of that chamber,

Where still resides,

A being.

I have not forgotten this,

That, from which you always flee, I think,

From me . . .

When I hold onto that mindless rabble -

It frightens you to think,

That I am more than just a bat with wings-

Going in some random area.

I cannot see . . .

Just why.

I couldn't have been just your 'thing' . . .

Because I am so much more than-

Your little wind up.

                                         

Reviews

[The Twin Arenas]

This is great. It's very internal and still, while at at the same time in constant motion. It reminded me of the way thoughts form on a bus or on a car. It gets juuuust close enough to a typical "romance" write without ever becoming unoriginal or a collection of tropes. It paints the corners of a heartbreak piece. Sorry I didn't get around to it sooner. Really enjoyed.

[Foxemerald]

I’m glad you enjoyed this. I wrote it on a train several years ago, actually. Thanks for reading!

[Phill Oz O'fee]

This is great; a multi-layered wordplay of questioning, challenging and demanding attention! Loved the structure of the piece and the way the stanzas link your raw feelings of how you view yourself and how you believe others see you ... really interesting read and thought-provoking write - bravo... :-)

[emmajoy]

Am amazed at your lack of reviews.. tho people seem so easily bugged by words running down a page.. maybe they never write shopping lists.. odd.

Your words are mesmerising: they drip passion, need, awareness, bewilderment, pleas, colours of emotions fired and near faded. Seems you might have added for whatever your reason, those words beginning, ' I sleep - there is no love in my heart' ..... til the final phrase of that area, '.. where still resides.. a being'. That seemed to be an attempt to fill the spaces where reason should be - yet still trip up the emotions. Perhaps, no, likely, because they are yours.

Will come back to read again. Perhaps yet more. It touches a chord.

[Foxemerald]

How nice . . . thank you so much for your words. I'm glad you enjoyed this. Hope I hear from you again :)