Broken Dolls

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You know the kind
In the rubbish bin
A chain link fence
Jailing her insight.
One eye doesn’t open
The other remains shut
More bangs were cut
Too short
There’s no more style
For her hair to grow
She’s the one with
The ground in dirt
On her cheeks sadly with
The peach pink
Rosiness of health
So long ago scraped
Away. You’ve heard the doll
Without a cryer.
It whines and permits
An off key sound
Going on too long
Or worse too short
Inhaling and exhaling it’s
Time to go
Time for death dear girls.

Extracting from an ordinary
Doctor’s bag a stethoscope put away for that little girl.

You know the one that’s been left outside the toybox
With her hand held out
As if to say
“Please don’t hold it
Tell me you love me
Instead.” Tell me even though
I’m leftovers made
By a factory worker —
You don’t know me me yet.
The one who was drunk on the
Job. She was my salted
Mother who
Immaculately completed
Me. And though I’m in
The rejection pile
To be sold for pennies
On the dollar
To the disappointed child
Stuck with me now
Since you know I’m the one.


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