Porcelain doll

I can't move, can't speak or breathe

You must move me around as you please

And if you drop me, it will hurt me,

But I can't help it if I love you

With my doll's heart.

I'm afraid to move,

afraid to speak or breathe

Lest you stop loving me

So I wait silently for attention,

My doll's heart beats only for you,

My eyes are only on you.

I don't change like you do

I don't grow old

Hands touch this porcelain face

Others gaze into these blank doll eyes

That fail to understand what they see

This doll mind remains unwritten in a false innocence

Love me, love me

I'm trapped in an unmoving porcelain form

And I can't help loving you,

Silent and noninterfering,

A doll's face, a doll's mind,

This love, yours alone.

Comments

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...

Autumn approaches

The days are growing shorter. Gusts of wind blow away the last bits of red and golden leaves clinging to the trees. Ophelia walks through the garden, her heavy, curling blonde hair falling behind her suspended in a kerchief. In her arms is a basket of gourds. A hand snatches her from behind. She turns and meets a mirthful gaze. "Shelley!" She scowls unpleasantly. "Don't bother me." Ignoring her, he binds her hands, forcing her to drop her basket. The gourds roll around the hem of her threadbare skirt. "How quickly it's grown cold. Isn't it invigorating, this wind?" "Stop this nonsense. See what you've made me do? You'll have bruised squash for dinner." "My love, can't you stop a moment and look over the river? Look at the golden trees, touched with the very last bit of daylight. Have you ever noticed how they grow orange before it gets dark?" "I've never had a mind to look. And I am not 'your lo...

A Garden of Virtues

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