There’s a rip
In who I am
Torn
By who I dream to be
RDP Word of the Day: Schism
Tag: torn
Little Doll
When I was young,
Wandering the French Quarter,
I picked up a little doll.
It was straw,
Scraps of fabric sewn,
Haphazardly strewn,
Over my little loves eyes.
Then I met you,
The music in my soul.
The doll grew old.
We were young,
Self narrating stories meant for two.
Our love grew blue
Like jazz on a rainy day
Or soul songs in a minor key.
The little doll,
Rife with Orleans memories,
Became a hated thing.
In blind passion
I ripped and tore,
Never realizing it held my score.
Now I’m torn,
Shreds of skin and bone,
Hanging bare.
Finally you’re home.
What’s the matter dear?
Are you scared?
Am I not beautiful enough
With my haphazardly strewn skin
Sewn over my eyes?
There are posts over at The Perfectly Imperfect Bunch waiting for you!
Rag Doll
I’m just a rag doll
Made from pieces of faded hue;
Stitched together by silken thread of blue.
Picked apart by crows overhead;
What a shame, now no one will take me to bed.
Because I’m just a rag doll
Made from pieces once pretty.
Now I’m just a rag doll
With my head flying high above the city.
What a shame it is to be told
You’re just a rag doll no one will hold.
I haven’t linked our collaboration in a bit because I did the photo challenge entirely from my phone so please go check out The Perfectly Imperfect Bunch, we have great posts waiting for you to read!
