She was pliable;
A living, wooden girl.
Whose heart melded so easily with others,
Broken umpteen times she’d lost count.
They would troupe, one by one,
Contort her into something pleasing enough to view,
Into something malleable,
Useful, warranting their attentions,
She’d barely need to beckon toward their view.
How her heart beat like a chased wild rabbit,
Intent on escaping down that hole,
But the viewers, purveyors,
Liked to amuse and play with certain things themselves.
And this living, breathing doll,
This girl hung onto perfect hope,
That one day she would meet the hero in her tale,
With his love, a perfected human being she’d become.
When her joints would loosen,
Become like delicate glowing alabaster,
But the hero in the tale is her,
She will be the one permitting her own true awakening,
She will be the one to curse away the undesirable curs.
© 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.
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