The Ticking Of The Clock Poem by Erika Michelle

I'm thinking
of how you make me feel.
and who i am
and where i belong
and what's best for me.
and when it's all going to finally work out.
the clock keeps mocking me.
with her tick.. tock..
reminding me that time is running out,
reminding me that space has no shout.
telling me over and over with each tick of your hand,
nonsense words that i just can't disband.
you move your hands closer to me,
forever prodding, pushing me in circles
around your twisted finger.
but the clock has no voice, your echo doesn't linger.
you can't tell me who to be,
your hand may push towards the twelve,
but i'm not the one to be one or two i'm
number three.
try to find thirteen on that face of yours.
i may not belong, but i'm no ignorant.
nor incompetent, what did you lend? where
have i went? who have i been? what did
you see? you have told nobody.
that silly mouth of yours,
always running in circles.
i don't know where i'm going
or who i'm going to be.
but i will keep moving,
always ticking.
the seconds fall away,
and my voice slips away,
my hands are never searching
because i'm a top the clock,
watching the sun with the stars,
just as i watch you now...
keep ticking little clock,
one day your tock will stop.