I don’t want to be your rag doll anymore.
My threads have worn thin and I barely recognize myself.
Once an item of adoration;
no one wants to play with me anymore.
I’m tired of sitting in your junk drawer with my eyes drawn open.
Reluctantly smiling hurts my tired, drunk jaw.
It will take some crafty stitching to keep this baby doll from falling apart.
© 2007 RB