Sometimes, it’s embarrassing
being a ceiling fan
for a man.
I turn myself in circles—
whizzing,
buzzing,
whirling—
just so he can have
the illusion of being cool.
Meanwhile,
he stays still.
Unmoved.
Unaware.
Never noticing
how much I do
just to keep the air
from feeling stale.
He doesn’t thank me.
Doesn’t see me.
Just mutters,
“Must’ve been the wind,”
and moves on
with his day.
Jul 6, 2025
Jul 6, 2025 at 8:32 AM UTC
Sometimes, it’s embarrassing
being a ceiling fan
for a man.
I turn myself in circles—
whizzing,
buzzing,
whirling—
just so he can have
the illusion of being cool.
Meanwhile,
he stays still.
Unmoved.
Unaware.
Never noticing
how much I do
just to keep the air
from feeling stale.
He doesn’t thank me.
Doesn’t see me.
Just mutters,
“Must’ve been the wind,”
and moves on
with his day.