we we taught as children how to dress, to walk, to smile

we were trained to be products, to be put out there for mass consumption

for men to pick, the pick of the bunch, they are after

a pretty smile, golden hair

in this fairytale, I am a rejected doll, tossed off a converbelt

I long to be made pretty,
dresses and curls

but men do not want a thing
to fix, they are not courting
challenges

I have searched, travelled oceans,
watched pink blossom fall from
a tree, sensing a way out

I pick my stitches out,
expose my seams, my cotton
heart

fall to the floor, in bits,
ready to be sown and made

new again