deepundergroundpoetry.com

Porcelain Doll

Buried

The young me found a doll buried in dirt.
It was so beautiful,
so fragile,
discarded, and hurt.

I connected with this inanimate thing.
Even in this shameful form,
It's beauty covered that feeling.

Oh how I wished to be that way.
An Emotionless Beauty.
I started shaping myself up.
Impatient to fit that imagery.

Feigning beauty and strength.

Never breaking,
as my family destroyed itself.
Never cracking,
as my friends betrayed me,
time and time again.

The ones I've loved,
had also discarded me,
just as this doll
had been.
Still I had hope,
that someone would
find me,
like the doll I did.

Every time I started believing,
someone would chip away
at my thoughts.
Sadly, the doll was just doll.
It would never have to endure
drowning in distraught.

Yet I feigned beauty and strength.

My sweet little doll,
how nice was it not to feel this frantic?
It didn't have to grasp unto
sanity, hands pulling at nothing,
in utter panic.

I missed the big picture,
and continued loosing myself.
I kept dragging my emptiness,
closer and closer to hell.

I didn't even notice when I
became the doll once covered by dirt.
I was in buried by my emotions,
as deep as she was.
I was damaged, discarded,
and deeper in depth.
Just like this doll, I realized,
all I possessed was

porcelain beauty and fake strength.