Sunburnt

pretty dolls are broken dolls

Pretty doll sitting on the shelf.

Pretty dress, pretty face, pretty doll

Made from porcelain

and desire.

Take her from the shelf,

dance her in front of your guests,

bask in their compliments. 

Such a pretty doll.

Such a pretty dress.

Such a pretty face. 

Preen her,

brush her hair with gentle strokes, 

redo the paint until there's not a 

speck of imperfection. 

Your pretty little doll.

Sit her at the piano. 

Porcelain fingers on ivory keys. 

Don't touch her without gloves, your 

pretty doll.

Let them compliment her. 

Bask in them. Don't let her hear it. 

You don't want your pretty doll 

to get a big head.

Put your pretty doll away. 

Chipped paint. Tattered dress. Matted hair.

Dusty. Dusty. Dusty. 

Cover the piano. 

No more pretty doll.

No more pretty compliments. 

Switch off the lights. 

Crack. 

Smashed porcelain beneath your feet. 

Don't look.

Don't let the puppeteer see her.

He'll take that pretty doll 

and he'll attach her to strings.

Dance her for his own amusement.

No compliments.

No crowd.

Just his pretty doll dancing beneath his fingers.

He takes pretty things and he 

smashes them to 

pieces.

Just to put them back together and pretend

he saved them. 

Cut her to pieces and sew her back up with

strings.

Pretty doll falls from the shelf. 

Reviews

[ale]

very impactful and wonderful poem :]

[Vee]

thank you!