A true poem about something found by me 30 years back, and how I have come to relate to it |
-Ragdoll- by Keaton Foster Ruby Are her eyes Vacant Is her smile Her limbs Repaired Again and again Her body nude Shapeless and rude Her hair Wild Free of care Her features Perilous defenses To pretty To look away To hideous To ever escape She could only Be loved by another As mutilated as herself She could only be kept By someone who Would dare not object Not an ounce of doubt Fills any part of my chest I know why she is here Just as I understand why it is That I have remained Displaced Is her soul No one knows Who created her And No one knows Why they Didn’t destroy her Upon my stoop She was left Abandoned I suspect No one ever Came back for her No one ever Returned to see her On the darkest day I retrieved her And now For nearly three decades She has occupied a space At the corner of my desk A spot where the light From a single fixture lamp Barely touches A place where darkness Is always close She is propped up By some classic books Written by men I fear ever madder than me When I lose my place When I need an audience When I need something Rather someone to listen It is her that stands in It is her that is relied upon She is my litmus test My grading rubric All that is to pass And all that is to fail Is decided by her alone If these words are convicts Then she is without question Judge, jury, and executioner I hold what she says And more importantly What she won’t Above all else I never touch her I refuse to move her The only time I ever have Is when I took her from my stoop To where she now resides I could never destroy her I know and understand That forever She will always exist That she will always be Part of me and my process Part of me and my stories Part of all that I am And all that fail to be Upon my death If ever when I’m sure that another So deserving will find her Whomever will of course Be mesmerized like me They will come to reply on her Just as I always have I call her ragdoll Sure it’s more of a description Than a proper moniker I’ve have never Felt any kind of need To properly address her As anything more She alone is the audience in which I place all of my fears and concerns She is my most trusted critic I reply on her more than most There she sits at the edge Of both darkness and light There she remains Just as I placed her For all of my days She will be a silent observer To the brilliant madness To which I am so inclined… Ragdoll Written by Keaton Foster Copyright © 2014. |