On Motherhood & Sanity


Sunday, August 14, 2011

on a certain porcelain doll


I know a girl much like a porcelain doll.


Her beautiful face, her black hair is long

Her short limbs are thin, her dark eyes shine on


She is delicate and calm, her half smile is fixed,

She studies at night, weaves time and her hopes

She walks brisk and fast,

as if she was dancing to the tune of a quiet song


This little porcelain doll works hard.


Gets up with the sun, plows quietly ‘til dawn,

lies down with the children to tell stories of old,

The stories she’s been told, which haunt her at night,

Will remain untold.


She’s perfectly dressed, clean, proper and pure.

She prays when she must,

she does what she’s told


I’ve know this porcelain doll for some time,


She’s young yet she’s old,

She has found yet she’s lost

She cries when she smiles,

She walks all alone


her heart now seems cold, her womb has been dried,

her future was drawn over her hopes on the sand

her whispers are cold, her body abused,

the shine has worn off, she makes money now.

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