“You look pretty”.
It is a cage I have adorned myself within.
In my nineteen years of living,
I never thought there could be a greater compliment than
“you look pretty”;
“you look beautiful”;
And, my personal favourite,
“I bet you look good
Under all that clothing”.

This is a cage that I have locked myself in.
The walls are made of crystal,
But no one who presses their hand up against it
To steal a glance in
Ever sees me.
I am what I will become,
But to the crows that surround me,
I will never be more than the pretty object
Waiting to be snatched up from the filthy floor.

In my nineteen years of living,
I have been conditioned to believe that my worth
Is solely based around
How pretty I am,
Or how good I look in that dress,
Or how I beautifully paint my face to become
Your doll.
I never have believed that I could be
Anything more.

When you gaze upon me,
With your starving eyes searching my body
For something that does not exist,
Do you not see me for my true worth?
Is my capacity for kindness and
My loving nature
Not something which is destined to be adored?
Will who I am
Ever be enough for your ego to coincide?

Whatever it is that you decide,
Your choices will not persuade me.
I know I am worth more than an idle compliment
Which holds no weight or denotation.
I know that I am worthy of a love
Which sees all of me,
And not just the crystal cage
That is shattering in my wake
Around me.

To what do I owe this honor
Being your toy
A scheme
Thinking you could pass me around to another
With no love
No thought
I meant what I told you
With every piece of my tearing heart
I love you
Even still
You shove me to another once you've had your fill
Is this all I've been to you
Is that all you want
How could you...
Broken
Unsure
Why should I be a part of your life anymore
I'm not your plaything
I'm not your doll
Seeing you toss me aside...
I can't take it
I don't want to fall

i swallow hard and the act breaks me in two, a deafening crack and the crease on my neck gives way like grandma's Russian doll i thought would never open again

what have i done?


my heart
has been filled to the top with liquid—
a glimmering red,
so much so that
it just
burst open.


what have i done?


my heart
is a porcelain doll.
so beautiful, that you want to touch it, but
once you do, it shatters into a million pieces,
because you drop it.


what have i done?


my heart
is a thief with a knife.
it holds it to your chin,
as you struggle and squirm underneath the blade.


look what i have done.








look what i have done.

I'm in a rut, when will it end, I'm sick of toxicity in my guts.
They tell me stop being bothered, what's wrong with you?
Your like a broken doll that's always wearing blue.
We don't wanna hear your cry anymore or see your tears, we wanna be happy, what's wrong with you?
I'm struggling inside, more than you know but I can feel it all too well and you turning your back on me makes me feel it more.
I'm trying to be the best me everyday, when my emotions come out to play and I make a mistake just know I'm trying my best.
I'm like a broken doll that feels like I belong back on the shelf.
What do you do when your best isn't good enough?

A crack in my skin,
you glued it back together.

  a blemish with my mind,
you fixed it by force.

   a doll

that's what you wanted from me

compliant. complacent.

   easily doted in affections
and sacred anecdotes.

   you were devout to me,
but weren't you that way with all your dolls,
with all of your collections?

   I was promised to be your favorite,
but a favorite isn't pushed to the back,
kept in an attic with no golden rays
willing to shine on the broken skin.

   your favorite wasn't ignored.

   I wasn't your favorite, but perhaps that was for the best.

    you're a dollmaker,
a cruel one with
tenebrous standards, ehtics.

and help those who are your
f a v o r i t e creations;

as every day passes by,
I thank myself for
denying your quips any longer,
your routines,
the melodies of your lackluster
yet pretty promises.

   I was a doll, yours to be exact,
but pretty promises with no
density, and formidable
abandonment and ignorance
shall only go so far.

this noise is too loud for these porcelain ears of mine
they scatter with cracks as the noise grows near
this abuse is too rough for this porcelain skin of mine
each hit I take scuffs the baby pink paint on my cheeks
this sadness is too sad for this porcelain heart of mine
the melancholy that has been brewing inside of you for so long is now forced into my fragile soul
there seems to be no more love in this home;
I guess thats why they call it a dollhouse

Together we dance under the ceiling
Spinning around and around,
Love is such a wonderful feeling
Until you fall to the ground.