Skip to main content

Little doll

Little doll on a shelf
Saying nothing
Still and silent
Is this how it's meant to be

Where's your voice
Where's your breath
As you sit quietly
Existing in a dim expanse

Who closed these lips with coral paint
Why are your cheeks so bisque-pale
Who do you wait for, little doll
To whisper in your shell ear

Skirts so silken
Shoes so polished
Not a ruffle out of place
Curls that frame a bisque-pale face

Who looks into your blue eyes, little doll
Who holds you close and dear
Who allays your darkest fears
While other people look on

Exquisite love, forbidden thoughts
Is this how it's meant to be
For a girl to become a doll
Is this what you're meant to be?
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Courtney, sun-bathing

Post a Comment
Read more

Fanchon

I can't believe it. It looks like the rusted gates to The Garden of Virtues are going to be laboriously parted by small articulated resin hands after all once more. I am glad that I am buying Lanie's Angel, but I am also a little sad. I remember disposing of Dresden along with my other dolls. I was in a vicious rage. I hesitated over Dresden's prone form, thinking, goodness, even I don't think of her as a BJD, is this really necessary? And then, blindly, cutting the strings. I can't believe I am actually talking about this now. I have not talked about it before. I regretted losing her afterward, because I did not really need to part with her. She was a sweet, special presence, a little woman. I have kept all of her eyes, wigs and clothes. Of course I will never forget the moments in which I divested all of my BJD's of their clothing, wigs and eyes. The other day Henry came around with a little velcro he had found and I grew faint, knowing that it had come fro...
7 comments
Read more

It was 1846.

"The wind was hard and fast, howling against the immovable keep. Within lights glowed. Like beacons the panes of illuminated glass dazzled my eyes, so cold I thought surely they had frozen open. I knew not myself. I knew not my hands, which hung as exanimate wraiths from my arms. My clothes, dull rags, twisted around me, and it seemed they made no difference against the ice and the wind. I felt myself drawn into the warmth of the keep. I was past gratitude-nay, not past-but I knew that I had been reduced to a bestial state. I was too ashamed of myself and my imposition to look my benefactor in the face."   It was thus that we found "Caroline." I saw her in the St. Vincent de Paul resale shop and was captivated by her forlorn looks. I gathered her limp body in my arms, and Leslie and I brought her home. In the sewing room I removed her wig, dismantled her limbs, and after eyeing her stuffing decided to discard it along with the wig. I took her body pieces ap...
5 comments
Read more