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Ian ortega Jan 2019
Miss Daisy is what I call her,
Having a doll, but only a head.
She never complains and she never is lonely,
Because this doll head is never alone.
When I bought her came also Miss Darlyn,
Another head for the price of one.
Jenny Gordon Dec 2018
...on my head --that should do us both good since YOU're not keen on aught knowing YOU love me too.


O madness of these dolls my niece'd avail
Herself of cuz they're popular and thence
What aught who'd buy her favour purchase hence,
(Where I was far too poor to dream in frail
Excuse of any such things in betrayl,
When I was just a child)! The vid'os' sense
Of, well erm, foolish joy in these--pretense,
I cannot even like the dolls to scale.
Nor did adulthood change my view as twere.
Goodwill in lieu of e'en the mall MY cue,
They all look now askance at me in tour,
My peers thus none too blind.  What did I do?
Or wherefore is't I'm on the fringe, 'til YOUR
Love is a marvel none explain, O YOU?

A child of the mad 80's, oh my! the toys they had for Generation X!  Mum got me Ginny dolls cuz that's what she'd enjoyed, and some baby dolls too.  But I'm not sorry we didn't have YouTube to tell us how to be.
Sylph Oct 2018
I love porcelain dolls
How smooth the porcelain is
The creepy eyes
I love how fragile they are
How fragile they feel
How breakable they seem
Thats why i get along with them so well
Were so fragile, Our eyes give it away too
Always looking so sad or even creepy

One to many cracks we break
We just shatter
Not much we can do once we do
I guess you can try to glue us back
the glue
will only last so long
its a never ending cycle

We love
We hate
We crack
We break
You glue
      And  just Wait
EP Robles Oct 2018
EAT me maniacal mannequin
kiss my wishes.  i am a broken
misunderstanding that only you
can understand AND SO the sun
Falls down across the erecting
Moon --the movers fell into
gracious love with the shakers
  so lick me maniacal mannequin
  and hold me until my skin turns
  porcelain-blue like your heart.

:: 10-05-----2018 ::
Anne J Oct 2018
Strings, strings, wrapping around porcelain skin,
For why does the bruises not show?
With a waist, hip, and two legs that are so thin,
For why does the skin always glow?
Hair that never sheds, nor grows, nor messes,
For why does the girl not wash it?
With a merry face that still never truly expresses,
For why does the face not show even a slight fit?
Stoic, conjoined, the feet never stomping,
For why does the limbs never feel frostbit?
Perhaps it is a lie that the being is a girl,
As it is only with strings that she can ever twirl.
I did this about two weeks ago, as the poem you gotta send in order to the join the site. I hope y'all liked it. Does this count as a Halloween story?
Vexren4000 Jul 2018
Cardboard figurines,
Walking through life,
Following the leader,
Monkey see monkey do,
Following the flow,
Never resisting the control,
Manipulated by multiple hands,
With dark intentions,
Those poor figurines,
Think they make their own choices.

Irina BBota Jun 2018
I feel like a bride
In the valley of white dolls,
As I lay dying.
The sky began to purple
And the scene to set
And the heart like drums
Began to beat
Then from some twist of light
A play began to roll
And there I was
Dozing in the sunshine
One quiet afternoon
When lightening flashed
Right from out the blue
Shattering my reverie
Was the Sunlight's goon
As he took a bow for
His introduction and
How d' you do
He shook my world of classic order
To a surrealistic view
With quick steps to the left
And then to the right
He bent my gaze
To his central stage
Of course,
This monochrome painter
Requests total attention
Not difficult,
As he's been struck from
The list of convention
He spills his canvas with tidy
Abstractions of captured jests
Of wild imitation, a pose
In fractured time
He is a master of imagination
With noiseless motion
He whirls to each identity
From his kaleidoscope of darkness
His badge of entity
He bends symbols to a new formation
A magician of dimmed light
He nurtures the checker board
Of contrasts in angles to
His invention
From a repose in solitude
I now acquaint myself
To timeless relenting
For he's here
He's everywhere
Though neither god nor man
But entertainer
A show that begins from light
And ends with darkness
While I see, he plays a game with me
Wherever I go, he goes
Whatever I do, he does
Though sometimes leader
Sometimes the lamb
But while still blinking
From this sudden view
He wills me to another hue
As he molds his statues
To another stand
And shades the tones darker
Then with some secret mime
And the close of time
The audience, now
Just common dolls
That leave no echo of applause
So they've left
The lights have gone out
And the Shadow
Opaque of emotion
Releases his hold
And there he's left me
In a final void
Was he really there?
Or was it just another show
Of self confrontation.
the puppet man
the puppet man

pulls on the prompting
he makes good use of the
them dolls answering to his
how well he handles the

the puppet man
the puppet man

oh yeah he's got a tight
influencing what the dolls do on his
all of them dancing along in
ever he'll call with the strong

the puppet man
the puppet man

manipulating the dolls every which
he has them co-opted by his
coercive the show's tugging
so he'll obtain his own

the puppet man
the puppet man

nycteris Jan 2018
All of the words I have ever said
have been said before.
The life I have led
has been done before.

Such an average life
that doesn’t deserve notice.
A paper doll cut out with a knife
aiming for precision but left with
jagged edges.

What started out as a little thing
in the womb.
A life to be born with wings
torn to shreds when first sunlight
touches the skin.

Typically cradled by a loving mother
left to fall to the ground
without a bother.
Welts and a scarred heart
on the little baby.

Once a paper doll thought to be cut evenly and equally
like the other paper dolls of its kind.
Instead of scissors, a knife given to unworthy figures
created a paper doll.
Modelling it in their own image
destined to carry on its lineage.
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