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May 2014
Sometimes I feel like your own personal life-size GI Joe doll, or rather, action figure. Only with *****.
Sometimes you want to dress me up in what you want to see me in and take me out to play.

Other times, when you're not in the mood to play with me, I'm shoved down to the bottom of your toy-box.
From there, I can only watch which of the other toys have been lucky enough to be chosen to entertain you today.

I was already used when I came to you. Second or third hand from the thrift shop of souls. But I was new to you, and you were new to me. And we reveled in each other like it was Christmas morning or your eleventh birthday.

But the newness has worn off and you're bored with me. I hope you notice the smile on my fixed, yet malleable face if I do get to go on an outing, even if I never make it out of your backpack. If not, maybe I could be new again at the thrift store on bargain day.
Dana Taylor
Written by
Dana Taylor  California
(California)   
887
 
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