Windup Girl

I’m not truly alive, just a
windup toy that lost its legs
handstanding plies in tulle
hair golden snarls in a bun
my prince slain by Rat Kings
my only hope, dusty music box
wait in slow burning moonlight
dancing on fingertip weavings
my tutu is spiderweb sorrows
the only music my fragile voice
I had wings once, crows ate them
I had breath once, he stole it
I had dreams once, but now all
I can do is keep the chime hour
rhythm in my cage, afraid, dead
automaton.

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