When I first arrived,
I thought this was Heaven.
So much attention. So many poses.
He never put me down.
Within the confines of his studio,
he bathed me in his purpose.
How I'd climb for him. I'd walked and sat.
I'd carried things around and even once,
I got to spit
beyond the balcony.
I felt so free
I modeled in the nude.
I knew the joys of satisfaction,
but he frowned and said he needed her.
I'd never be the same...
He had us walk and pose for dinner.
As he sketched, she told me stories
that astonished me, like music to my mind.
Alone again, my poses dulled and I grew tired,
for we never went outside.
He had no human friends.
Pinocchio, reversed, I think he envied me,
reducing three dimensions down to two,
avoiding color, blanking faces,
doing introverted busywork
intended not to end.
What either one of us
would eagerly have given
to have traded places --
I, so animated, he, so wooden...
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