Ballerina

When I was little, I had a jewelry box. When you opened it, this plastic ballerina would spring upright and spin slowly around to the tinkling tune of "raindrops are falling on my head". When you shut the box, she folded away and the music stopped as if she ceased to exist.

Now and then, men marvel at me. "What a precious Ballerina". They open up my trust, and I dance. The look at me with admiration in their eyes, as if I'm some etherial princess, some fairy tale. Then, they learn I am more than plastic. I know more than one song and I can do lots of dances. When they see I have much more to offer than an unmoving plastic doll, they become bored. Some people are mesmerized by the fake and one-dimentional, and bored with the vivid. So, they shut the box and trot away. But, I don't cease to exist when the box is shut. I'm fully aware, there, in the dark.

I'm not saying all men are like this. Most are, most people are, maybe. And it isn't always romantic relationships. It's just how people often treat people.

It was just a thought. Of course, I wasn't big into balerina's, so the jewlery box was mostly fun for the music and for being a special place to hide things. My alarm clock was much cooler. I think this is the same one. Talking Batman/robin clock. It's quite cool, check it out.

Anyway... I saw something online that reminded me of the stuff my mom painted on my jewelry box which reminded me of the little ballerina, so that's how we ended up here. :)