porcelain

sometimes i feel like a porcelain doll
with a painted face
and tied up hair
sitting on a shelf
alone
only to be looked at
and admired
she sits and waits
begging to be let out
pleading to be set free
wishing for a home away from here
passing from one person to the next
trading hands and papers
left and right
still never to find herself
wanted for long
she’s too delicate
they say
too much
too fragile
too needy
just routine
purchased
displayed
decayed
resell
never stopping
never feeling
never knowing
when it would all come to an end
but one day she’s bought
taken home
put on her own little shelf
up in the corner
displayed alone
sitting up
with her face painted
her hair pinned
still waiting
because no matter what
the life of a doll
is to entertain
and when a glance does not fall
then shall i
slipping
once broken into pieces
though i know the pain i waste
at least i have your gaze again