Look at me, look at my dead beaten eyes,
that water till they're nothing but glassy, enclosed.
Shutting myself off from the world,

Battered and broken from the beatings my body took,
from the words that slit my skin,
and the looks that choked my throat.

I was plush not porcelain.
Purple not pink.
I was pretty never perfect.
Petite but not pricey.

And I wasn't what the world wanted,
was I not?

I had tattered clothes, and tears,
in my eyes.
Appearance matters, but what about what's inside?

I was kind, caring, and loving,
but the world wasn't willing.

To let me out,
from this box,
I reside in.
Enclosed, as it circles around me,
in a mockery,
of who I am.
And who I should be.

But I can’t change,
I've learned to despise me.

Be this,
Have this,
Want this,

*******.

I want to finally get out of this box, I’m stuck in.

But who would want a doll like me?
And as I think,
why would I want anyone to play with my heart strings?

That have been taught and pulled,
till the mere reflection, and view of myself,
just aches.

To claw at the figure, whose skin doesn't radiate,
with the grins of gaiety.
A soul lost and huddled in a shell of a shadow,
she can never escape because it follows.
You everywhere.

Eyes unblinking,
watching, and judging.
Laughing, and smirking.
At me.

In the end it doesn't matter, whether we’re in the box,
or out of it.
Either way,
**We’re still the world’s puppet.