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I am a ragdoll stuffed with two-cent cotton imitation in a factory in China. My arms and legs moved by hands seen through mismatched button eyes. my only desire is to be like other dolls: Barbies, Polly Pockets. Big eyes and plastic bodies. My pills come in a bottle like a gumball machine, dispensing one brightly colored sphere at a time. Pills to make me, like them. The artificial emotion seeping into my veins. Sweating out my pores. Plastering smiles on my face, and ironing rainbow patches behind my eyes. A giant sugar-coated crutch shoved under my armpit. Force-fed lying happiness. Here comes the choo-choo into the tunnel. I am a cat eating grass to make itself ***** I want to move my own ragdoll arms, sit up without a metal pole behind my back. I want a straight line stitched on my face so I can choose to make it go down. Or up, Or diagonal, Or shed my potato-sack skin and metamorphose into a trumpet. With freedom to resound over mountaintops, Dribble liquid gold from my singing mouth. But I am a ragdoll. Whose head is stuffed with two-cent cotton imitation on a factory floor in China. Whose only desire is to be real.
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Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 9:43 PM UTC
Ragdoll
I am a ragdoll stuffed with two-cent cotton imitation in a factory in China. My arms and legs moved by hands seen through mismatched button eyes. my only desire is to be like other dolls: Barbies, Polly Pockets. Big eyes and plastic bodies. My pills come in a bottle like a gumball machine, dispensing one brightly colored sphere at a time. Pills to make me, like them. The artificial emotion seeping into my veins. Sweating out my pores. Plastering smiles on my face, and ironing rainbow patches behind my eyes. A giant sugar-coated crutch shoved under my armpit. Force-fed lying happiness. Here comes the choo-choo into the tunnel. I am a cat eating grass to make itself ***** I want to move my own ragdoll arms, sit up without a metal pole behind my back. I want a straight line stitched on my face so I can choose to make it go down. Or up, Or diagonal, Or shed my potato-sack skin and metamorphose into a trumpet. With freedom to resound over mountaintops, Dribble liquid gold from my singing mouth. But I am a ragdoll. Whose head is stuffed with two-cent cotton imitation on a factory floor in China. Whose only desire is to be real.
Written in 2012
sarah-harvey
Written by
sarah-harvey
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 9:43 PM UTC
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