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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…”



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