I was designed well for my craft.
I was sewn together with great care
by a most meticulous doll maker.
I was his greatest disaster.
In my brilliant design,
I was everything wrong for the world.
I was a remarkable creation,
advised to hide away my swollen, repulsive face.
My glass eyes and my rubber mouth
were both made too large.
I was once ashamed of them.
They have caused me grief.
Once, I spoke,
and my words ignited a commotion.
They were either horribly false
or too much the truth.
I can’t remember why, now,
but you threatened me.
You promised to rip off my skin fabric
and claw out my innards.
You cannot drain me, though, for I am bloodless.
My veins bear only language.