"ragdoll" poems
Mario hits it with the sounds
of bodies hitting plexiglass.
My horses hit it without a sound. They want to escape it.
And I am trying to drive this dune buggy
off this cliff, but the clipping is strong here.
In Pac-Man, the tunnels were circular. I don’t know
if people realized that they were trapped in a sphere.
In Asteroids when you get to the edge of the universe,
you begin again.
And that Snake. His body could stretch all over his world
looping, but he could never eat his tail.
If all your electrons were in the right place, and all the wall’s
electrons were in the right place. You could feasibly walk through
the wall.
What would you do while in the wall? Think. Fear.
The superposition could rip your body into ragdoll parts.
When I turned clipping off, I expected the freedom to walk through
the wall and suddenly the floor
fell out from under me.
Every time I respawn I feel like my inventory is heavier,
and my flamethrower burns colder.
Jul 21, 2011
Jul 21, 2011 at 7:08 PM UTC
I am a ragdoll cat.
Docile and placid, I bend
to your touch, my silky fur invites
your inquisitive fingers.
Easy come, easy go.
My claws are only for show.
Bred for affection, I'm
the perfect pet. I'll follow you
wherever you go.
But the thing about ragdoll cats is
when danger is near, we do not know.
We see predators the same as friends
because it's in our nature
to go with the flow.
Too many times, I've been ripped to shreds,
been tossed around and thrown
to the wolves.
When I land on my feet and lick my wounds,
I go right back to being a ragdoll.
Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 7:23 PM UTC
I need more intimacy,
Wanna feel someone else's flesh and skin and hairs under my hands
Look into their eyes and know their body trusts me,
Know every single inch of ugly scars and hidden acnea, protruding bones and round stomach,
Wanna kiss, grab, tear apart and let the soft animals we are take over for once,
Worship,
Be worshipped,
Trust and be trusted,
Need to be pinned down like a ragdoll,
Be touched like a craving man i
want it all,
And maybe i do want it
with you.
Jan 25, 2021
Jan 25, 2021 at 6:06 PM UTC
Snapped marionette
clings to the ceiling, watching.
Ragdoll under man.
Oct 18, 2016
Oct 18, 2016 at 3:27 PM UTC
Have you considered being a *** worker?
You have a body.
I know you never sleep there,
spend less time breathing than associating with your own ribcage.
You're an actress
no script, just a character summary.
Limp, age 12, non-verbal marionette.
*Snaps her strings when forced to dance.
Clings to the ceiling tiles, like the shadows she hallucinates.
Let's the puppet fall numb under strangers.
Ragdoll to be used for kindling.*
When you play your part
You'll inherit enough money to afford a studio apartment
in Washington, or Las Vegas; anywhere with men paid large enough salary to afford your vacant body,
three phone plans,
a hotel room for you to stay awake in
Listening to dull thuds against your wrongfully warm corpse
Invited hoping the stinging could form tendons
adhere together like rubber bands
Snap you back into your skin.
You cling helpless to the ceiling tiles
Watch the ragdoll make mistakes.
*"Have you considered being a *** worker?"*
A homeless woman asked me,
*"Unoccupied bodies should start charging rent.
Let a man who can afford it pay for utilities.
You might be homeless
but you won't be wasted space".*
Oct 18, 2016
Oct 18, 2016 at 1:56 PM UTC
When I first met love
It took me in its arm
And twirled me into a world
Where I could no longer
Be okay with loneliness.
It dropped me in the dust.
I was a foreigner here.
The only reality I knew before
Love left me stranded
Was dark and quiet,
Comfortable and terminal.
I was bound to fade away
And my time was almost up
When Love ripped me
From my grave
And ****** me into
Its strange world.
Here,
I settled into
My tragic fortune.
Waiting for Love
To dance with me again.
Our first dance
Was too furious to survive.
Love tossed me
Like a ragdoll
And spun me so fast
My head nearly
Detached from my body.
Love went for the lift
And dropped me on my face.
The second time
Love took me by the hand
It's gentle swaying
Almost made me forget
About our first disaster.
Softly, Love turned me around.
I turned once,
I turned twice,
Lost in rhythm I closed my eyes.
Now Love turned me again
And when I opened my eyes
Expecting to greet the face
That hypnotized me,
Love was unfamiliar.
Distorted and cruel,
Love changed to Narcissism
And left me in the dust again.
One more time
Love asked me to dance.
And I said,
"Stay away from me.
I won't fall for it again."
So Love shrugged and
Began to waltz without me.
I watched in disbelief
As Love moved
With a new kind of grace
And fluidity.
It didn't need me
To create such beauty.
But with patience,
Love waited for me.
So I stepped in
And Love let me lead.
Love bent with me
And caught me
When I dipped.
It seems
All we needed
Was the right music.
Feb 27, 2017
Feb 27, 2017 at 12:21 AM UTC
I am shylock,
In the attic barely used,
Barren exuberant floorboards creak in exhalation,
Of your footsteps.
There you find me,
In the dust;
A wooden trunk with brass fixings,
Didn't I tell you I held a million treasures?
You breathe in the sunlight,
From the round attic window,
Preening itself in your vision basked in gold.
I am shylock,
You moved a gilded hand,
Guided by a unknown force of union with the lock,
The air is silent around you,
The room is intrepid in its wanton stranger,
Who dares to enter this chamber of dust.
I am shylock,
You take my fingertips from the cup of a hand I had placed gently on your cheek,
The night before I had told you,
Of this room,
You gently take my fingers and place it on the lock.
I am shylock,
There is a gentle click,
That soon awashes the abated room,
That sways into a tsunami of grandeur,
Of history, emotion, silence and tears,
And it consumes the dust,
The acrid air and essence of my fears settle on your eyes and the homely mouth.
I am shylock,
You know how I came about,
Now,
You know how this room became accustomed to the dust,
And the floorboards, the dust,
And the window, the dark,
You are breathing me,
The trunk is open and waiting,
And at the bottom,
A ragdoll awaits your palm,
Your strength, your gentleness and patience,
This is my shy,
This is my lock,
And you entered the room and consumed me.
Burst through the door, cut down the labyrinth,
and found me.
Picking me up,
You,
Became me, attended me, held me,
with grace sensitive to my touch,
with the intention of a protector to my defence,
And the brazen warrior to my battle.
Now I am entered and countered.
Protected and put together,
Unbound and in your arms;
Now I am open and free.
My ragdoll, your love, and me.
Together, unlocked,
together I and you become, we.
Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 6:51 PM UTC
strawberry frenchfries dipped in chocolate fondue.
cry me an 8 oz cup of water when i step on you with my giant blue shoe.
dance through the forest with gnomes stapled to your shoulders.
hide your foil gum wrappers in manila folders.
left and right. front to back,
oxygen in the atmosphere may lack.
pluto and jupiter intertwine when night falls.
orange and green leather sewn to your ragdoll.
licking the excess frito crumbs from under your fingernails,
eyes pealed to the scenery of wacky inmates in jail.
selfish yellow and blue fish yelling at dr. seuss,
reading books in sunrooms drinking orange juice.
camera flashes and ripped dollar bills,
making chocolate pancakes on top of cherry hills.
hazy eyes drowning into a dream,
winter nights as cold as ben&jerrys; ice cream.
red hand chasing numbers on a clock,
movement of legs turns muscles into rock.
acid drops from black heart clouds falling onto driveways.
little kids on scooters munching on happy meals while saddened by the loss of sunrays.
23 degrees celsius and shine forcing itself through.
ice cream trucks and roadraged humans trying to get through.
bumble bee roads with lines and street signs,
teens boredum, smoking dope, drinking ***** getting fines.
police on the prowl everyday, every night, seeing through lies,
keeping their sight wide-open like a mouth in surprise.
fettuchini alfredo at fancy restaurants.
ice cold water knocked over on a ladys lap.
words missing letters, conversations missing sound.
apples and basketballs losing shape and sense of round.
flat chested skinny ******* slipping through cracks in wooden floors,
obese transexuals getting stuck in between doors.
puzzle pieces glued to the top of a bald head,
veins appear blue but blood is red.
blowing kisses, blowing out candles
cats,dogs,birds wearing sandals.
Feb 19, 2011
Feb 19, 2011 at 5:27 PM UTC
Hellenic
Flesh and marrow
Raphaelite form
painted into life.
Honey hair
slipping through the vees between my fingers like
sand
conch-white skin
You blind me
like the noonday sun.
Enveloping—
body wrapped in body—
ocean and sky
meet
at the horizon.
Peel my skin from me
like an orange.
Apple.
Heal me
with hands upon thighs
Stitch my ragdoll body together with the sutures of your kisses
Stuck
by the glue of lips
Raise me like Lazarus
from the valley of death
from the orchard in Eden and the shame of skin
Reupholster me
like a dinette chair.
Vivid as the Sistine Chapel
your hand
outs t r e t c h e d
toward God
I find you in
pumpkin seeds
scattered
like tears
on the floor of my car.
They were yours.
Jul 25, 2011
Jul 25, 2011 at 2:29 PM UTC
There is a cat at my window
I am still
ragdoll in its flooded mouth
arsonist in one sulfur eye
night in a silhouette
shadow without philosophy
syllable of jungle chill
be it alms seeker
spy
or courier
or smoke as a pirouette
all icicle and satin
black iris I see
blood beating its binary
pulsating lodestone
hanging from its ley line
like the lamp of an angler
when the sun is furthermost
and all gods are unbeknown
I am still
still
the cat sits at my window sill
Dec 15, 2011
Dec 15, 2011 at 4:58 PM UTC
Nightfall, through the door,
Bedsprawl, a ritualistic bore. Movements, they're oppressive. Actions, they're aggressive but his eyes, they're depressive.
Our synthetic connection and self-hatred is created with projection and misplaced indignation. There is no love in our heads, no lust in our beds. The fear of emasculation and eternal damnation hides all self-loathing with boasting and congruent clothing.
My Y was castrated. I'm a ****** from the womb. I'm Female, for unsated gloom my X is berated. I'm named a disgusting mutation as he projects his deveation onto the population.
When his shameful "pride" has diminished, I know our joyless formality has finished. He doesn't sit in the pew, yet he stands in the aisle, locked in a prison of denial. Tough and brisant, trying to be what he isn't. He walks out like a ragdoll, his steps aneurysmal with alcohol.
Beside myself, salty tears act as an anaesthetic, the antonym of emotion. An apathetic ocean.
I clutch my centre, the daunting tormentor. Impregnation is a STD, an infection, an infestation. Glue for our miseries to undo our joys. Merriment induced torment, fidelity induced gaiety
Dec 12, 2018
Dec 12, 2018 at 8:03 AM UTC
I was captured by her grasp.
A cruel disease
As my stomach howled and shrunk to the emptiness
She laughed as my body got sick and less strong.
I tried to force her away.
The "disease of the mirror"
This goddess was too evil to be drawn out.
As I shrunk in size and grew weak to her calling.....
I screamed in pain, silently.
As I never thought people would understand why I was falling.
I was caught as I dropped to the floor...A broken male ragdoll.
As skinny as a puppet and unable to admit his defeat....
Those who cared for me most had picked up my remains..
Brought them in for repair.
Now this "evil temptress tries and tries" to "Over take the new me."
As I still must remain in the supportive eye of those who know how to tame her....
They make sure I never disappear into "thin" air.
As this broken Male still looks onward for a more permanent solution to his "Mealtime" dilemma....
He thanks those who cared for him, came forward, and pushed him into "Class."
Now, to honor all for their belief in me, I press onward to find the right school to add to their" class alumni...."
I thank those friends well known and strangers to "society."
As I shall stay strong with hope. As "Mrs. Anorexia" shall never get the best of this supported and stronger soul...
I shall never fall back into her grasp and shall never give in..
To be her victory as she watches me slowly die.
Oct 14, 2016
Oct 14, 2016 at 3:39 AM UTC
Glassy eye.
While one sleeps, keep the second open blankly.
People believe you when you look at them. Stare at them. Break into them.
They'll believe in your strength. So you won't have to.
Tangled yarn.
Matted hair; red. Vibrant. Stand out before you stand up and sink.
Pull it. Yank it out in devastation, frustration, desperation.
Can you feel it escalate?
Ripping thread.
Twine comes tangled; tousled ropes of faith strung out. It's all a mess.
There's a breaking heart here somewhere. Dig beneath the filamentous skin.
If anyone dares to dig that long.
Stitching smile.
I'm tearing. Falling apart at every seam.
Stitch me...pin me back together. Lift me up; I'm weightless.
I present to you a plaster smile; don't forget to stab in dimples.
After numerous unfaltering years, it's wearing thin. A tiny break appears.
All the strings are coming loose.
Iron-on teardrop; a permanent stain on a withered face.
There are many uses for a Ragdoll.
Play with her. Use her. Dress her. Change her. Throw her. Hold her. Hate her. Tear her. Tell her.
Everything.
She'll never let it go.
Dance with her. Sleep with her. Hide her. Break her. Blame her. Love her.
Trust her.
Her stitching will hold. The perennial line of happiness will always prevail.
Ragdolls look brightly into any light. Opening lifeless arms to please. Everyone. Anyone who needs them.
Now, someone needs to need her.
A Ragdoll is good for many things. Fitting any character and criteria.
A Ragdoll can be selfless, ageless, fearless, reckless, seamless.
However.
Never
worthless.
Aug 13, 2010
Aug 13, 2010 at 12:52 PM UTC
His voice of crackling static
is known from round the corner.
It's raw from shouting news reports and
the music of an empty pocket
to a world, only half listening.
A toiling madness of chord and thread -
frayed, plucked fabric, strings
hanging from cuffs. This plaid ragdoll and
his bird **** stained guitar case are
collecting change like a magpie
His incompetent lips are their own shower
flecking the pavement. What music gathers
in the whited joins of his mouth is urban
desperation, but their grubbiness suggests
you could still plant potatoes in his fingernails.
Twitching and lined, his visage isn't as old as his art.
The jarring strum and lacquered voice
serve to remind us, that the tongue
is the only muscle in the human body
stronger than the heart.
Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 8:07 PM UTC
I felt the warmth caress my cheek like
the light of heaven radiating down
on me. Looking up I saw my mother,
with eyes blue, and a dress smudged by her youth.
Laughter and love streaked down my face and it
could be said this moment was infinite
in all of its grandeur. But we knew of
this falsehood, for god left for the stars and
you were my angel, but the men took you
too. They marched in; their tin guns rattling
to a tune I didn't know. The storm grew
on until finally, I looked and saw
mother taken into its gaping maw.
My limp retreat, hastened by the need to
escape the reality laid before
me.
As the sad scurried escape continued,
I felt my most intimate seams begin
to tear. The contents of my creator spilling
onto the cold ground. Those tin toy soldiers
surrounded me, and I realized something.
“A ragdoll can't flee”
With an air of vengeance, I took their bait;
biting down on the cursed fruit bestowed
to me by our nonexistent savior.
With a smile I split my seam and screamed out
to all the fallen toys, and fallen joys.
“Hush now men, mother, and me this is life;
this is love, and can't you see what it doe-”
My thought grew dark as a cold tin soldier
finished the job, and I joined my mother
within the ash.
I felt the warmth caress my cheek like
the light of heaven radiating down
on me. Looking up I saw my mother,
with eyes blue, and a dress smudged by her youth.
Laughter and love streaked down my face and it
could be said this moment was infinite
in all of its grandeur. But we knew of
this falsehood, for god left for the stars and
you were my angel, but the men took you
too. They marched in; their tin guns rattling
to a tune I didn't know. The storm grew
on until finally, I looked and saw
mother taken into its gaping maw.
My limp retreat, hastened by the need to
escape the reality laid before
me.
As the sad scurried escape continued,
I felt my most intimate seams begin
to tear. The contents of my creator spilling
onto the cold ground. Those tin toy soldiers
surrounded me, and I realized something.
“A ragdoll can't flee”
With an air of vengeance, I took their bait;
biting down on the cursed fruit bestowed
to me by our nonexistent savior.
With a smile I split my seam and screamed out
to all the fallen toys, and fallen joys.
“Hush now men, mother, and me this is life;
this is love, and can't you see what it doe-”
My thought grew dark as a cold tin soldier
finished the job, and I joined my mother
within the ash.
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 5:10 PM UTC
you will break the dawn
like eggshells,
cracked like my promise
and I will take the needle,
carefully knit your battle wounds together
with stories from inside
candles flamed kisses.
I will plaid metaphor and memory together
until you are the rag-doll
someone promised to fix.
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 4:43 PM UTC
if you open my lips
with your lips and close
them with your fist
and i forget
how to thread a needle
will you stitch my
ragdoll body back together
like a patchwork quilt of skin and
bone
china will you
bury the pieces when they
break
Nov 2, 2011
Nov 2, 2011 at 2:06 AM UTC
Some kids at school don't like me. That much is obvious.
But the problem is, I don't like me.
But really, how could you like me? With my limp brown hair, and my grey-blue eyes, its pretty obvious I'm no beauty.
My parents don't know.
And then, there is my brain.
Sure I may be in the class that excels in education, but compared to everyone else in the class, I am as dumb someone who can't spell 'car'.
I hate being me. I hate myself.
My first kiss was at a party as a dare. I mean, come on.
I don't deserve to be School Captain.
She deserves it.
She is a better person than me
I must punish myself.
I skip my next class, run home.
Get these things: 1.8 metres of rope, a hammer, an empty glass bottle, a knife, a chair, salt, a pen, and some paper.
I go into the bathroom.
Write a note about how sorry I am to my friends and family.
I smash the bottle. I draw pictures on my arm with it. Using my blood as ink.
I look in the mirror. I see a crazy girl staring back at me. "I hate you! You are worthless!" I scream.
I grab the hammer, smash the mirror.
Use the broken pieces to draw patterns into my leg. Rub salt into the wounds.
I am feeling weak. I am hurting. I am feeling dizzy.
Nearly there. Nearly done.
I grab the knife, slit my wrists.
It hurts. I scream in agony. Blood is streaming out.
I sit on the chair, sobbing into my hands.
I sit up, and try to make a hangman noose.
I can't. I'm too weak. Instead, I rub the rope against my neck until it is red raw.
Finally, when it is all done, I sit on the floor and think, just think.
My parents will find me. I will be featured in the news. I can see it now:
'Human Ragdoll - Girl kills herself in family bathroom, but not before torturing herself.'
Next it will say: 'Parents of the girl say, "We had no idea. We thought she was fine." what is the world coming to?'
Of course you didn't know. Not that you ever took the time to care, I think.
I can hear my parents walking through the door.
I whisper "Goodbye." and I can feel myself fading away. Today was fun.
My father walks through the bathroom door. He holds me and whispers "Stay with me baby, I love you."
I get time for an "I love you too." before I am pulled into darkness.
Sep 22, 2012
Sep 22, 2012 at 11:46 PM UTC
Doesn’t run.
Doesn’t even curse.
Just sits there as the tide
Comes surging forward
And the clouds tumble
Over one another in the sky.
Doesn’t run.
Doesn’t even curse.
Just pulls out the tile
In her pocket as dull black
Water sizzles and froths
In a torrent all around her.
No, she
Doesn’t run.
Doesn’t even curse.
Just stares at the engraved
N and the sub 1
On the game-piece’s face
While the water drags her in.
Even when she loses her footing, she
Doesn’t run.
Doesn’t even curse.
Just clasps her hand
Into a tight fist before
The icy water
Swallows her whole
And thinks:
Where are you now,
Ocean Eyes?
Where are you now,
When I really am drowning,
And not just in every word you say,
Not just in every thing you do?
The force of the tide
Is not very strong,
Yet she does not fight it.
She is limp,
Now part of the water
Just as she was once part of him.
Where are you now,
Ocean Eyes?
Where are you now,
When everything is just too hard,
When I really do need
To disappear inside something bigger than me?
Seagulls scream overhead.
The sky is a black oil rag,
The lake a dark,
Rippling curtain,
The wind a shrill lamentation,
The girl a hollow husk.
After a time and with crunching,
Crushing force.
Her ragdoll body collides with a rock.
But she doesn’t move.
Doesn’t grab hold.
Doesn’t climb on.
No, she
Doesn’t run,
Doesn’t even curse.
She floats facedown,
Almost as if to look
after the tile
that falls from her hand.
Oct 14, 2010
Oct 14, 2010 at 4:01 PM UTC
His eyes cloudy grey
Storms clouds once, tired now
Breathes like sand bags
Heavy and damp
Slowly holding in a flood
Ragdoll in the wind
He falls, limp and lost
I hold- til sleep
Sep 2, 2018
Sep 2, 2018 at 3:09 PM UTC
The darkness is here
It is all around me
As it has always been
My constant companion
They lurk inside
My demons
I sit in my dark corner
I try to keep away
But they wait for me
The ticking crocadile to my Captain Hook
They have a taste for me
For my cold blood
As it has always been
My constant ally
Against myself
Its almost a comfort
Having them there
Even if they do haunt me so
They are here to ravage my soul you see
The cruel reality is
I am not a real girl
Just a ***** little ragdoll
Fraying at the seems
Feb 6, 2013
Feb 6, 2013 at 8:59 PM UTC
Open your eyes can't you see
What you did to me
I'm broken, once again
You played with my heart like it's yours to keep
Cutting open the wounds too deep
But I'll get it back somehow
Cause I'm too weak to get it back now
And you'll probably take advantage of this
You'll hold me down even though I'm in my wrong place
You can claim all you want how much you love her
Though your love seems to be defined by your profile pictures
Cause you still keep me by your side like a ragdoll
Throw me around when you get bored
And I'd still play with you play with you
Cause I'm head over heels,
I'm head over heels for you
You make my life full of contradictions
This kind of love I don't want to play anymore
Stockholm syndrome isn't something that I got
But I can't get away from you,
Can't get over you
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 1:56 PM UTC
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.
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 9:43 PM UTC
The flame engulfs us into physical bliss
Energy so powerful it knocks me to the ground like a ragdoll.
With every thought and hope for you to be happy and content
Another lick of fire singes my heart and soul.
When things are going your way,
Your smile can melt a snowman
And your eyes magically draw me to you
Like a moth to a flame.
But when the wind is gusty,
Your heart grows cold and hardens
The ugliness of the ice freeze me away from you.
While my fire is burning out of control just wanting you.
This flame I speak of is our energy merging as one.
The ice and cold comes from distrust, suspicion and rage.
A fire that consumes every molecule of my oxygen
Pushing me farther and farther away, being burnt bit by bit.
My heart is shattered with emotions I didn’t realize were possible,
Yet you react aggressively, without care of the consequence of your action
I pray you will never endure the utter destruction of a spirit of love
But maybe, you can have a chance at your next possibility of true love.
Unfortunately, I was the best you will ever have.
My love for you was pure and true.
The pain will subside over time, I pray
Hope others reading have the strength to leave someone they love
to heal their hearts and love another who deserves it.
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 10:24 PM UTC
stitched and knitted,
sown and grown.
I'm so fragile,
on my own.
you can easily break me,
whenever you want to.
I'm under your control,
my life revolves around you.
you see,
you can drop me,
break me,
shatter me,
and **** me.
but I will forever be under your control,
for I am your ragdoll and you are my curse.
May 20, 2013
May 20, 2013 at 4:34 PM UTC