I have already posted, Mommy's Doll, on my blog, but I am reposting it for the series of poetry based on my life so far.
Mommy’s Doll by Matasha Lee
It is time to get my doll out to play:
to stroke her hair, dress her, and to play pretend.
I comb her thick, gorgeous, charcoal black hair so she can look pretty.
I put her hair into a ponytail,
and apply her bows and ribbons.
Oh, how adorable she will be for all my friends and family to see.
Her hair is now done.
I lay her on the bed as I pick out a dress for her to wear.
I hang all her clothes in my closet.
I pick out a pink floral dress with a white ribbon tied to the waistline.
Yes, this is the one.
I pick her up neatly.
I do not want to mess up her hair.
I gently put the dress upon her head and pull it down to fit.
Fixing every part of her dress, so she can look presentable.
I sat dolly up on the bed and look at how beautiful she is.
I pick her up, hold her, and say, "Awe, how I love you, dolly."
I place her down and walked away.
When I came back, dolly sat in the same place.
She was still perfect.
I went, looked in the mirror, and saw my perfections,
I had my hair tied in a ponytail with a ribbon streaming in my hair,
with my all pink dress on with a white bow tied in the back.
My dolly and I looked just alike.
Our clothes where neat and our hair was gently combed.
We are perfectly made.
But there is something different: my reflection is showing my scars.
Dolly is not abused like I.
I pick up a marker and draw scars upon her lifeless body.
Now, we can play pretend.