there are parts of me that don’t work as well anymore.
when pinocchio became a boy
i wonder if he realized
what emotions would mean
and how they would
get in the way of really being.
i wonder if the sensations of being alone
will only grow
the older i get.
i wonder a lot of things
like if anyone’s noticed that death
truly is our oldest friend
because it’s all we’ve known
every beginning’s an end.
there are parts of me that don’t work so well anymore.
parts that have elongated and
separated from parts that were once whole.
somedays, i don’t even feel human.
and i wonder if pinocchio realized
and wanted to go back to being wooden.