music box dancer

a poem about performance and it's validation. Painfully unwavering devotion to earn attention and the cruel addiction to play from the counterpart. Oh and my father.

You wind me up and make me spin around.

I am getting dizzy, you like to watch

as I am getting tired of performing

blisters on my perfect pointy feet start forming.

I am your tiny dancer in your music box of perception.

I put on a show for you when you open up my heart,

I twirl on your command to show you where you stand.

You put a spell on me when the music starts

I am infatuated with the way, you put me on display.

So I smile, as you watch me dance for you another little while.