We are little ragdolls

waltzing our way to

a day of perfection;

it kills me –

our button eyes

and plaid shirts sewn only

for us to wear while

rotting on wooden shelves,

it is harder to see when

one’s eyes are glued open;

this is the hell they have

crafted for us.


The urge to awaken

has found me again,

but only as everything else

is dying.


14 thoughts on “Ragdolls

      1. I hoped that you would. Now try for Boston Poetry Magazine too — I think you are a shoe-in (I do not think you have to live in Mass).

      1. I appreciate it Joanna! I’m glad you liked it. I actually scribbled this one down hastily at 2:00 in the morning last night, and liked the random way it spilled out. I shall stay true to my chaotic mind 😉 But I promise to clean it up if I ever hand it to a publisher someday.

          1. Oh, quite often – mostly to change a few word choices or spelling mistakes 🙂 But I liked the last stanza where it was – in it’s random, confused place. It makes some kind of sense to me.

Thoughts? I love those.

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