| 3.27.2007 |
| Poem .4 |
The dolls sit with their soulless smiles peering out through the glass.
I stare back at them and wonder if they're happy in those fine dresses of silk and lace,
Or do they secretly weep to be free of their prison of dusty shelves in a locked cabinet?
What song would the Madame Alexander Bride dance to at her wedding?
Would the Christmas 1998 Barbie hang the tinsel on her tree?
And what about the old rag doll? What stories could she tell?
With so many questions unasked and unanswered,
I simply admire the collection for what it is,
Nevermind the inaccuracy of the proportions,
Or the flawless and unnatural skin and hair.
These dolls are nothing more and nothing less than perfect.
I stand here in front of them with all my imperfections bared for all the world to see,
And though I may never be as beautiful or cherished as they are,
I can walk away. |
posted by Little Red @ 4:29 PM  |
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