Rag Dolls Can't Speak

 

Unfeeling and inanimate I am

My eyes are buttons

My hair is yarn

 

I am a toy to those who seek to play me

And they play on

Until I am tattered and worn

 

 

My open palms reveal blood soaked abrasions

From climbing the rose bush to find beauty

No, to find a place safe from harm

 

Sneering giants gather around me spiting and stomping on me

They blow my rose with mighty breaths

I fall and am stomped on; my stuffing is smashed into the dirt

 

 

My teeth chatter in the blistering cold

The feeling in my toes were lost once my shoes of felt gave way

I beg on the street for a blanket to un-giving hands

 

The bluebirds sing sweetly to me

They drop savory crumbs to fill my rumbling tummy

But they are swept away by brooms held by unsmiling faces

 

 

I am perched on top of a metal fence

 Looking up at the grey and soggy sky

Too afraid to look down at the growling hounds below 

 

I know who proceeds those horrid dogs all too well

I hear his heavy footsteps before I see his sneering face

No matter how far I run, the boy will always find me

 

 

I sit quietly in a corner of the boy’s dimly lit room

I patiently await the day I will die in peace

And flowers will be placed in my pale, cold hands

 

I reminisce my experiences in the darkest places of earth 

Mine eyes have seen the horrors of perceived happy homes

Yet my lips are sealed shut to tell them

 

 

I wish there was an alternative to my eminent doom

Maybe to wait for the person who will open my sewn mouth

So I can speak the murmurings of my heart

 

Or even a caring child who will take me to a magical palace

Where I will eat sweeties and frosted cakes

Until my stuffing pokes out

 

 

I snap back to my reality as a grimy boy walks into the room

He sets me on top of a stool and pinches my face into a smile

The Polaroid camera flashes

 

As the Polaroid comes through

I am shocked to find it erringly gorgeous

Its many filters have fixed my scars and stains

 

 

I gaze at the many Polaroids of myself on the wall

My boy and I smiling ferociously

No signs of the bruises and blisters on my face

 

If only someone could peer into the still pictures

And see that I am a broken girl

Who has been played like a toy for far too long

 

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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