Pinocchio by Ana Victoria Febres

I always loved to hear life’s song,

its pulse, its beat, where I belong,

to match my steps with time’s embrace,

to marvel at a moving place—

where multitudes became as one,

a single body on the run.

But those were days before a guest

arrived to stay, denied me rest.

It placed long pauses in my stride,

stole the flowing joy inside,

and showed me shadows I must face,

another self I can’t erase.

At times it feels I live in two:

one self is whole, the other skewed.

In one, I’m normal, free, alive,

in the other, wood can’t thrive—

a Pinocchio with broken strings,

a puppet lost, with clipped-off wings.

And when my life is pressed on pause,

the world moves on, with its own laws.

Pinocchio is put away,

each person dancing their own sway.

Then silence comes, without a care,

it steals my movement, leaves me bare.

It grips my heart, it makes me still,

it bends my path against my will.

It shows me sudden, without sound,

the orchestra can’t now be found.

But that’s not how the story ends,

there’s always space to make amends.

I hear within, though silence reigns,

a steady heartbeat still remains.

It means to walk the inward road,

to find the song my soul has owed,

to hear my voice, my rhythm true,

to fit my song, my spirit’s cue.

And this is what I choose today,

though more must come along the way.

This truth gives meaning, makes me see,

reminds me what still lives in me:

That rhythm lingers by my side,

though faltering, it will not hide.

I chase it down, I make it mine,

and rise again, in my own time.