The One With The Zoo (ft. Hats Off The Glass) | The Art of Poetry | Page 1

**Ft. @full lily **

Welcome to my exhibit.
Please don’t tap on the glass.
I’m fragile, like a wifi connection during a Zoom call… on Monday… in a storm… while your cat walks across the keyboard.

Notice the cage isn’t bars, just your expectations.
And yes, I can see your judgment from here.
Front row seats, and you didn’t even pay for a ticket.
I’m basically live entertainment.
For free.
You’re welcome.
Tip jars are optional, but my soul appreciates Venmo.

I pace.
You stare.
I eat, you comment.
Yes, I do prefer my snacks at room temperature.
No, you may not throw me a cracker.
I’m not a chipmunk.
I am a bird, though.
Supposed to fly, yet here I am.
Contained. Watching you. Judging your life choices.

Some days I try tricks.
Jump through hoops.
Pretend I’m happy.
You clap anyway.
Even though I know it’s pity.
Applause tastes like disappointment sprinkled with passive-aggression and unpaid parking tickets.

Look!
I can talk!
I have opinions!
But don’t worry, I only exist to amuse.
And maybe to remind you that your life isn’t as perfect as your overpriced coffee thinks it is.
Or as Instagram-friendly as the pile of laundry you call “organized chaos.”
(Cont. Below)

Sometimes I make eye contact.
It’s a silent challenge.
You look away.
Classic prey behavior.
Congratulations, you’re part of the exhibit now too.
Welcome to misery. Membership: mandatory.

Oh, don’t mind me.
I’m just over here, flinging my dignity into the moat for your entertainment.
It’s how we survive in captivity.
Also, it’s cheaper than therapy.

And yes, I have instincts.
Like judging silently.
Or plotting elaborate revenge using only paperclips.
Mostly plotting.
Trained enough to sit on command…
Wild enough to throw shade like a professional hurricane.

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like if the spectators were in cages instead.
Would you feed me popcorn?
Would you poke at my soul with selfie sticks?
Would you finally understand that boredom is the highest art form?
Or just post about it on TikTok while I watch from behind the glass.

I watch the lions get praised for being regal.
The elephants get applauded for memory.
And here I am…
Exhibit C: The sarcastic disaster.
No trunk, no mane, just a PhD in keeping you mildly uncomfortable.
I’m basically a mood ring with fangs and a caffeine addiction.

Some of you ask questions.
“Are you okay?”
I nod.
Smile.
Because misery is more photogenic than honesty.
Also, answering truthfully might get me banned from your zoo.
And honestly, I’m not trying to deal with HR today.

Every day, I rehearse my grand escape.
Not dramatic, just enough to slip past the turnstiles of your expectations.
One day, you’ll blink, and I’ll be gone.
Until then, I perform.
I pant.
I sigh.
I live rent-free in your judgment.
I also collect unpaid emotional taxes.

So enjoy the show.
I’ll be here, living rent-free in your judgment,
Until the day the glass breaks.
And then, sweet release—or sweet chaos.
Whichever comes first.

#The One With The Zoo (ft. Hats Off The Glass)