dolls are not sad when they are thrown away
they don’t like little girls anyway
now they can do what they do best
lie on the ground in eternal rest
thrown in the air and land on their heads
trapped in viselike arms in beds
having their eyes and hair pulled out
not allowed to complain or shout
it is not easy being a doll
at the little princess’s beck and call
the sun shines through the windows high
the governess gives you the evil eye
though you may not be flesh and bone
you would like to be left alone
trees have leaves and birds have wings
but you are only somebody’s thing
o blessed the day when you are tossed
and join the legion of the lost
in the back of a closet or high on a shelf
you can finally be yourself
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