This mannequin is freer than me I’m treed to taxes and age She stands beautiful and pale beyond the beautician’s windowdoor Glass cannot hinder one’s sight A primrose crown my daughter made for her naked head now wilts Still she is unaffected by life, the stoic Apolinaria
~ A.M, F.H.
Edited & Published 21st of February 2021. Written 21st of January 2021.
It's harder for my lungs to open up to new air when you're here than when you're not
After all your presence takes all the space I used to shape to fit my own self my own taste
Instead you force me into a mold you've created Force my body to fit my mind to submit my patience to coexist with things I never wanted A life not made for me
I'm just one of your mannequins to pass the time when people disappoint you life doesn't go your way your choices don't matter so that you can shape me into your own frustrations and smother my essence
I'm just one of your mannequins and now that you've left I don't fit in myself.
I was in love with a girl once who didn't love me back. She made me feel inadequate but also the best, most unrealistic version of myself
You are fashion Mrs. Juniper Some days a fitted skirt Others, a skinny jeans ensemble The summertime catcalls and whistles Over the length of your legs And a slinky polka dot bikini You pay no mind to If fact, you don't even blink Even when they lick the glass It's a job to you Plain and simple And no matter how stiff it becomes You're always willing To lend a helping hand
Inspired by, of all things, a scene from the 1970's police procedural TV series "Adam-12."
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.
Staring at the girl who used to be innocent and pure, Now just a mannequin of hated nothingness. Dressed in the color red, a representation of love, Now representing only that of which she lost. The tears running down a perfect porcelain face, Smudged makeup smeared upon its appearance.
I am beginning to realize I was nothing more than a burden, a bother, a mirror reflection. Mocking me as my world comes crashing down, My heart now unknown and forgotten. The perfect picture you painted me to be was not even me at all. Dolling me up, and puppetting me around, to follow your every will and whim. You pressed me into this mold of a person, you taught me who I should and shouldn’t be. So now that you’re gone, which me, is me...?