How long must I cry,
These porcelain tears?
How long will they see me
By my outside alone?
My hair,
I do it up nicely,
No matter what my mood.
My nails are painted
And my clothes,
Kept without a wrinkle.
Down to my shoes,
I am but a doll.
A doll tossed and torn
By society’s harsh judgments.
So many rules,
So many unwritten rules.
Keep thin in the waist;
Always wear accessories,
Never leave your hair undone
Or wear your weekend clothes
On a day you could be seen.
Smile when smiled at;
Wave when called for.
If they are older, male, or richer,
Laugh at their jokes.
Don’t be opinionated
Or ever question authority.
Never make a “scene.”
So much to do in life,
Yet so little time to live.
Yes, I am a doll,
A porcelain doll of society.
For I have grown cold,
Tough on the outside.
The shine
Has left my eye,
But somewhere
Deep within,
A heart must beat;
I must still be alive,
I must still have some hope.
For these tears I cry
May look out of place on porcelain,
May be wiped away by society
In an attempt to keep me untarnished,
But nevertheless,
They are real tears
And perhaps their warmth
Can melt away this painted face
And reveal one
Holding the true beauty of life.
Age 15
These porcelain tears?
How long will they see me
By my outside alone?
My hair,
I do it up nicely,
No matter what my mood.
My nails are painted
And my clothes,
Kept without a wrinkle.
Down to my shoes,
I am but a doll.
A doll tossed and torn
By society’s harsh judgments.
So many rules,
So many unwritten rules.
Keep thin in the waist;
Always wear accessories,
Never leave your hair undone
Or wear your weekend clothes
On a day you could be seen.
Smile when smiled at;
Wave when called for.
If they are older, male, or richer,
Laugh at their jokes.
Don’t be opinionated
Or ever question authority.
Never make a “scene.”
So much to do in life,
Yet so little time to live.
Yes, I am a doll,
A porcelain doll of society.
For I have grown cold,
Tough on the outside.
The shine
Has left my eye,
But somewhere
Deep within,
A heart must beat;
I must still be alive,
I must still have some hope.
For these tears I cry
May look out of place on porcelain,
May be wiped away by society
In an attempt to keep me untarnished,
But nevertheless,
They are real tears
And perhaps their warmth
Can melt away this painted face
And reveal one
Holding the true beauty of life.
Age 15