i am four
and i learn how to cower:
to put away
my disobedience,
my words,
my innocence,
and look at you like an animal.

i am ten and i know how to cower...
and how to go to school,
and how to live alone,
but by now, i’ve learned to wish
for things greater than mom just
coming home and for you to simply
stop
screaming.

so i turn fourteen, but still you are
evil, and i,
broken…
a doll, that grows but does not extend its
limbs
past the deep end
or grows any new sets of teeth.

i age into fifteen and get broken by someone else...

and then i turn sixteen, as time goes on,
i guess,
and still feel broken, but this time its
different than from when you first
broke me,
and i become harder but happier…
sadder, but sharper when in a
stasis, and
try to heal through watching people have a love
for others...

but i fail, and still become happy,
anyway
and

finally, it is now, and i can say i grow up,
as i will always
continue to grow, and when you come back,
i extend my hand in thinking
it’s finally safe when
you grasp it again...

and break all of my fingers.

it is now,
and i learn how to cower.

Porcelain white is painted polite.
Grown-up to be perfect, and pretty in lace.
Long shiny hair ******* with a bow.
A beautiful pro at hiding her woe.
Dressed to the nines with diamonds that shine,
to blind those from seeing her broken design.
Her body a shrine all knotted with twine.
Privileged, and coddled.
Loved, and swaddled.
Prepped for ascension,
despite the fine lines that grow in her spine.
Cracks in the porcelain, rigid and sly,
grow bigger with rigour as time flies by.
One more bawl and she’ll break above all.
I am a china doll, would you like to see me fall?

Right at the corner of the street
An antique store lights it bulb
I went it
My eyes stuck at the shiny matroyshka doll

The owner stood up
And gave me the doll

The 1st doll look so happy
There is sparkle in its eyes and the smile shines as bright as the star who lights up the darkness of the night

I open the 2nd doll
It smiles without any sparkle on its eyes
It smiles as if it has no soul

I open the 3rd doll
It has no expression
It doesn't look happy or sad either

As my head is spinning around
I look and open the 4th doll
With the sad look on its face
I start to realize that something is off

Then I open the last one
And i feel like I'm watching myself

A broken pieces doll

Deep in my heart
I feel like it is me

I smile as bright as the sun like the first doll
While I'm actually broken inside like the last doll

Faces painted all around
but they made no sound
Seeking glass eyes found;
Open book kept bound

I've been still,
Caught in a sweet stasis,
Buried under the same, baseless
Candied gags, slippery hags, body bags ー
But I can't go back.
Haven't moved forward either,
So I still sit silent here.
Maybe I'll someday wither ー

Like dandelions as they scatter in the wind,
I will feel no more the weight of societal sins.
Staying awake in anticipation;
That feeling you get when you see a road blocked
and a wrecked car hoping it was an accident
Eventful; excitement to see that tar black
Crimson on tarmac
and those trampled, broken-pretty shells ー

I want to be a doll.
A pretty hollow pale porcelain
you still can't hurt when I slip through your hands,
Or when you let go and drop me,
Or smash me into the ground ー
It's all the same, isn't it?
You buy, bore, break, blame, build, rebuild
Rebreak, reblame, replace...

I remake real-fake love into stanza-sized stories
Just to rebrand them as poetry;
A molded part to inspire some abstract art.
They're better off that way,
Locked in and stationary;
Sweet standstill sanctuary.
And I'll stay to watch their models fail and break,
As they too, disintegrate ー fellow ******* degenerates

This time I was at your disposal,
But we're all just glorified disposables ー
Ever-hungry, hedonistic at heart.

If she is hungry

Then we'll let her starve

For longing

Is a beautiful expression

On the face of a pretty, young girl.


If she is cold

We'll wrap her in white

Over her paper-doll arms

Dancing-girl legs

Porcelain-baby face.


We'll spare her from mummification

By peeling away those first layers

Just to reveal more white, adorned underneath

Pure as ****** snow.


We'll never speak

Of those dark shadows

Over smooth, breakable skin, so fair

For we shall make a gentleman wonder

If she wears proudly her shadows

If she has on her pantyhose.


If she becomes yours

We'll show everyone

If only for a moment

Just what a prize you have won.

Such a lovely, hungry, pure, feminine face

Beneath that age-old veil.


But don't you worry, son!

As soon as you taste those wanting, red lips

You can lower that veil as you wish

Decide the form she shall take

As one who is yours

To feed, clothe, flaunt, hide

However you please.


But until then...


If she is hungry

We'll let her starve

Just to make her wait.

She sat on the shelf
Admiring the other dolls,
She'd been there for some time.
Watching the other dolls come & go.
The only one not wrapped in plastic.
She thought her self ugly
The other dolls never staying long.
The kids & their parents quickly by passing her.
Grabbing the dolls wrapped in box & plastic.
Although very beautiful she'd sit and contemplate the worst.
Watching the other dolls come & go.
The little black doll not wrapped in plastic.
She grew resentment.
Finding the only difference was in how she was made.
Her brown skin, her black hair.
She so longed to be taken to a loving home.
She didn't come with any accessories.
The vanity that came with the other dolls.
Her smile printed across her face.
Over time it became hard for that smile to stay.
Often crying when the lights turned off and the store closed.
She wanted a home just like the other dolls.
Quickly picked up,
Hurried over to the register.
She longed to be like all the other dolls.
Watching them all come and go.
Their hair tied behind their head.
All the make up and accessories sealed in their package.
It wasn't until one of the other dolls was returned.
Damaged.
Half stuffed into the package.
When she spoke to the other doll,
She discovered that not all homes are what you think.
Seeing how rough she was played with.
The rough marks across her face, her hair no longer tied in the package ponytail.
It wasn't until then that she realized that the best things come with time.
Finding the best home in herself
Beautiful black doll
Taken home to meet the girl she'd be with forever

I always seem to place myself in your hands like a porcelain doll.
Ready to be placed on a wooden shelf.
But your hands always wither to the touch of my glass skin.
I am real to most but when it comes to you I am a rose petal ready to be plucked to see if you "like me, like me not"
But that shelf has become molded overtime and the cracks on my glass skin have begun to show.
Your hands are not my sanctuary anymore. You left me alone and on display except for when you needed me.
Except for when that curiosity in your mind said "grab her"
But she is not yours anymore
Her glass skin has become more human by the day. Until suddenly she stood by herself and walked away.
Ready to be her own sanctuary .

i.
you evils,
you way back when;
the bud of youth torn open.
voodoo dolls, one for everyone you
know. mine your favourite.
stab the button eyes.
twist the straw torso.
stamp it out with the heel of your foot.
and i: confined for years,
steeped, like tea, in misfortune.
you elude the fates, karma, cosmic intelligence,
and tanged, twenty two months ago, life
thread in a tight knot,
ready to be snipped.

ii.
tar floods the eyes
and spews out like the **** of a spot;
acne-ridden teenager. that’s
all i was. crater-boy.
now i am stupid-boy.
subservient to the waves that jostle,
the spurs of your moods.
a marionette propped up on charles bridge,
forced to wave and smile.
day by day a diminishing, a fading —
a mystical dementia ravages.
people go, but never come, tired and bored.
the slow death far from over.

iii.
rotting but still alive.