You call when you are lonely
and I come running.
More than willing-
to fill your days with laughter and light.
Only you don't call when the sun is in the sky.
You call when she is fast asleep,
and you need a play thing.

The porcelain doll on the shelf-
the toy you pick up-
as if you remind yourself you are still in possession of it.
That your doll has not grown a brain of it's own-
and fled to a place where she is not set on a shelf.

I refuse to be that doll anymore.
I refuse to be the drunken texts and phone calls-
where you slur "baby, I miss you."
I am not your doll.
I am not your fix to a lonely night.
**I am my own person.