Painted Doll

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
If you go by looks alone then when your worn out you're all alone.

Submitted: August 07, 2014

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Submitted: August 07, 2014

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You don't see the fragile child in me
washed up in ambiguity.

Is it just a deserted body there
who was once young and fair?
I was a painted porcelain doll
the cracks upon my face like scrawl. 
Whose dust collected as a cloak
unravelling around the yoke.
Poor little child, tattered and frayed
can't they see you've worn away?
All your stuffing is coming out.
Your chipped smile conveys a pout.
Hair, coarse and matted like horse's hay.
By God, I'd say you've seen better days.
Now you're just scattered and thrown.
Who would take you as their own?
Emerald eyes painted stare in their glaze,
as one head hung down strung in malaise.
For what is there to do but loll?
What does one expect from a painted doll?

 


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