On a falling branch,
                                    A beautiful Siren
Admires
                 A doll.

a doll in caring hands is hardened, wiser than the eyes might betray.
looks up, wide-eyed and sincere,
hoping that this day will be another filled
with laughter, love, and fun.

and in caring hands, the doll, outwardly
pristine yet bearing scars all their own,
sees opportunity. friendship, love, care,
hope.

each day is an adventure all its own,
thread-bare truths, communion, lust, a metaphor, after whom they were modeled.

the metaphor houses more than communion and lust-- misunderstanding, learning, fear are all fighting to be seen, heard, felt.
wanted. needed. heard.

in caring hands, they will be. they deserve
to be. smiling wholly on the inside, serene,
fulfilled, attended to.

caring hands impart the love they need
in the measure they require, sonorous,
generous, kind. full and deep. because they
were crafted in the image of a lover,
we just didn't ask which it was.

I sit on a dusty shelf.
The days go by,
And I watch the children play.
I am sad and alone.

But one day,
A child notices me.
They notice my beauty and elegance.
They carefully carry me down from the shelf.
I now have a friend.

Months pass.
I spend time with my friend every day.
But suddenly,
They drop me on the ground.
My fragile glass skin is cracked.
I am broken.
My friend sees my shattered state,
But they do not care.
I am no longer beautiful in their eyes.
They leave me there.
I am alone again.

endlessly she looks on
lashes never flinching
no lids weighed by metal
to blink as you rock her
imaginary tears to fall

a little box freshly made
smells of melted plastic
made by wrinkled hands
with eyes shut tight
droplets soiling the exterior

the night her wisp of a candle
dimmed and turned to smoke
i held her in my arms
knowing she couldn't hear me
yet still sang that lullaby
the one that played each time
you pulled the string attached
to her back

and when i peaked down at
the window of her entrapment
my weepy eyes reflected on
her cracked porcelain skin
i imagined her mint condition
just like the day
i brought her home

A porcelain doll
Shatters when she hits the floor
Only shards are left
So she mends herself again,
Again, again, and again.

A string wrapped around your fingers
Threaded through my heart
Pretty patterns crisscross with my blood vessels
Paper butterflies dancing about
In my stomach of felt and fuzz
These lungs of mine expand and contract
Filled with your very own carbon dioxide
My popsicle stick bones ache
Splintered from heavy use
A doll for your entertainment
Made with love
For making love
But it isn't really love
Now is it?

glue down the edges of the wig
over line everything that is too small
hide everything that is too big
dress myself up like a doll
prance around like a drunken mess
dance around to try and make rent
****** you would think
on the brink you would think
but after the drink and the spotlight
i have no doubt in my mind, this is life
they call me many names, a man of many faiths
or faces but never peep any laces
corset underneath this slip dress
another j to smoke away stress
pennies never my worries
i will be provided for surely
i am doing my work, my work is doing me
i dont know who is in control
is it her, him, he
is it I that takes the lead
after everything is off, the mirror doesn’t notice me
wondering who will ever notice me

The eyes just stare, those two black *****
from the fabricated sockets of a lifeless doll.
As if it sleeps entranced in place,
with an eerie glance from its porcelain face.
Shivers creep beneath the skin,
at this creepy toy's disturbing grin.
Hearts are stopped at the sudden shock,
when it blinks its eyes and starts to talk.