Rag Doll

By Cami Stephens | Observer Contributor

I remember the first day you bought me.
“Look how pretty that doll is! I want her!”
Your eyes widened with passion and infatuation.
If only I knew that passion would be influenced by fiery.

I remember the day you took me out of the box,
You brushed my long blonde hair and told me how beautiful I was.
You couldn’t stop showing your friends and family your new, unused
rag doll.
“She’s so precious! I love her!” is what you say– while you look at me
with obsession.

Each day, your touch became more influenced by love, you couldn’t
stop it.
“I love you, I love you, I love you!” you chant into my ear, while only
focusing on my beauty.
“Did I tell you how much I love you?”
I have never seen someone love a rag doll like me, as much as you did.

One day, you silently put me in your box.
I screeched at you in agony,
Why was I in the box again?
I guess a rag doll like me is too unimportant to know the truth.

You looked at me one last time before putting me in a dark corner.
Your eyes filled with tears, but somehow it felt so fictitious.
You gave my hair one more gentle brush, yet it felt like you pulled every
strand viciously out.
You closed the box, making sure it covered my mouth so I couldn’t ask
why.

Through the clear packing of the box, I saw you.
You threw this rag doll out, so you could get a new, improved one.
“I love you, I love you, I love you!” is what you say to the new doll.
You just opened her box, how do you already love a new doll?

I’m here in the box still.
Occasionally I hear you say, “I love you” to her, I think about the day
you got me.
Now when people ask about me, you say “oh her? That’s just the old,
crazy rag doll”
And then you bombard them with your new doll.