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A Doll

24 Feb

My face like a doll. A doll bought and sold to the first vendor they could find. A doll, a delight for a while. A doll thrown in the corner.

“That doll is stupid.”

Convenience fairs on how many times she will brush my hair. If I am not perfect I am stupid. I am worthless. My clothes have to be ironed to perfection. My demeanor so that I am prim and proper.

Grade me to perfection. Love me, please, or my paint will run in my tears. But I’ve been forgotten.

Rage hits like tomorrow won’t come. Screams. “How could you do that to me” for things not my fault. Large rage for small things. Hole in knees. That’s not proper. Dirt on clothes. Shoes on floor. Lost sock. The doll, perhaps, does not know its place.

“Appologize to me

A doll, I cannot speak. There is no use in speaking. Her yells drown out mine.

“Dolly–I will punish you.”

Forgotten. Thrown in the corner. I can’t see anything but the floral wallpaper of her room. The shadow of my body casts against the wall.

Yank.

“See! I have one too. Mine is better than yours.”

She loves me. She is talking about me to others. She loves me.

Thrown in the corner.

“I hate you. My friend has one with brown hair! Why can’t you have brown hair?”

If I cry, my face will crack. I am worthless chipped. Forgotten again.

She’s brushing my hair and repainting my face. She loves me. I need her. She’s washing my clothes. I’m sure she loves me. New shoes.

“I’m letting Sally borrow you. You better behave. Tell her how wonderful I am. Don’t look bad or get dirty because that’ll make me look bad.”

She gives me to Sally. Sally brushes my hair every day. Sally invites me for tea with her other dolls. Sally hugs me. She pats me on the head. I want to cry. I can’t cry. I want to cry. Sally lets me cry.

“I won’t tell.”

She repaints my face as tears slip down my porcelain cheek.

Back.

“You were terrible. You forgot to mention how wonderful I am. You were supposed to praise me.”

Corner. I can now make out that the leaves on the wallpaper were once green. Faded now. My make up is fading too. I am glad. I miss Sally.

 
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Posted in Parenting, Parents, Poetry

 

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