The Doll

She only loves me when I make her happy,

When I contort to her every command.

She dresses me in admirable garments,

With indifference to my desires and tastes.

Brushing my plastic hair and styled in place,

Absolute compliance sparks a faded memory before caretaker became owner.

She wakes me from my dreams, the last refuge in the delicate annals of my empty head.

I bend and bend and bend and bend and crick, but I hold.

Escape from this living nightmare but a threshold away, if I could only move.

Tossed aside, finally, my bastion of neglected peace.

The few tea times her friend indulged me, I could at least live my dreams.

In envy my keeper snatched me back, tearing my delicate little stitch.

The smile my owner imagined on my face was far too upsetting unless she was the source.

I look around at my shelf of accumulated dust,

Where once her soft bed my head laid every night.

My warden returns, however, and with fresh doll clothes in hand!

It would seem I have a new role for play.