CREATIVE POETRY
Little Ragdoll
Throw me, kick me, hit me,
I may rip, I may tear.
I'll at least scratch at the knee,
“Can’t you see? It’s not fair!”
It’s not a circus either…
Ah HA! But it is,
When your hands are worn
Like the dying animals.
When you labour till break;
Oh, no break.
Work, work, work,
Don’t wear this, don’t wear that,
“Your opinion is meaningless”
Meaningless as a dried river
Dying in the capacious sands
Cracking with the heat of your anger.
“No, it’s all wrong!”
And I’m the one to blame,
The instigator of dreary eyes,
From neglectful aching nights,
Because I’m always the issue.
In the end
When my insides pour out
The white fluff of innocence,
Replaced with cold stiff beads,
When your game is done,
Fling me in the corner,
To rot alone as I curse in spite
“.… You…”