He Said: “She’s a Doll”

A motionless doll prone

on the floor, I am wet

 

with weeping.  Being indignant

for being treated by the world

 

with indifference, I will be pulled

up by the strings of my Master.  I will

 

swallow the pride lumped in my throat, to play

whatever role they allow: Corporate

 

Whore, Grease Monkey, Farm Hand, Dirty

Prostitute, Walmart Cashier.  Naturally, I bend

 

flipping about the masks painted with grand

illusions of want representing human

 

intention.  Nothing about my character is fluid

because I am frozen by rituals of everyday

 

life.  I am lost in the stuffing.

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3 Comments

  1. So easy to be “frozen by rituals of everyday life.”

  2. this I relate to-if you want read my poem the rules

  3. Reblogged this on disdainfulbeauty.


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