Do you remember the day my collar bone cracked?
The sound was so jarring, it echoed through me like my skull against concrete
It was the sound of a toy maker tinkering in the night
Creating his dolls, the ones that don't move unless he breaks and bends their arms at will
Yes. Cracking bone. The sound of my creation.
I'll never be the girl my mother made again, I'm something between yours and hers and not at all mine now.
Just metal and flesh. None of it my own .