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Porcelain in Rags

This is a poem I wrote for a struggle I am going through right now. I just thought I should get it out there.

By AthaliaPublished 6 years ago 2 min read
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I do not speak until spoken to,

Because I don’t know what he will do.

I always will comply—

Never will you hear an outcry.

Throw me out like a rag doll.

When he does speak,

He says I am “a freak,”

But I always hope for something

Better than a bee sting.

But his words come out,

Always with a shout.

Sharper than a double-edge sword -

His anger always going overboard.

The fabric of my mind tears away,

Like electric wires they soon fray.

Soon I will have none to spare.

How much more can I bare?

So, throw me away like a rag doll

I wish it was use and be used.

Why am I the only one who’s bruised?

Is there nothing I can take from him?

Is he a stone-cold statue?

I don't see how that can be

When he gives his time freely

His days given to belittle me

His hours given to accuse me

His minutes given to enslave me

His seconds to control me

When the time runs out,

He throws me away as rag doll.

He says he protects me.

“How much safer can you be.”

“No one will be involved

With my little rag doll.”

“These hands will never harm

My small one.”

The next day he throws me away,

As a minuscule rag doll.

The only love I need,

Is peace when I concede.

In the dollhouse I am provided;

In rooms it is subdivided.

One with food on a table,

That comes in stable.

Because that's all a doll needs,

Or he will say I'm greedy.

When I lay down,

I do not make a sound.

Not a tear from my eye—

Dolls should never cry.

Composure must stay put,

Or he will give that dirty look.

I mean I am perfectly fine.

Do you not see my smile?

And my blush red cheeks!

Stop asking if I am okay!

You don't know anything about me!

You can't see past through me!

A doll will never change,

That would be strange.

My purpose is always constant,

And I am perfectly content.

Because my will is broken.

And I can't seem to fix it.

You would never believe me,

Because you can't see what I see.

If I said something is wrong,

You would say “You guys can still get along.”

You would never see the scars,

That I hide behind bars.

As a broken little doll,

And then you will throw me away,

Like a little rag doll.

sad poetry
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About the Creator

Athalia

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