Porcelain cream skin,
Honey blond hair,
The right kind of thin,
Taken down with great care.
Her lifeless blue eyes,
Her baby blue dress,
Are enough to make you cry
And feel a little depressed
She stands tall in her case,
Staring straight ahead.
Her long hair framing her face,
Her cheeks rosy red.
Crafted to be perfect in mind’s eye,
But there is something most don’t see:
A hairline crack from her blue eye
Down her porcelain rosy red cheek.
As a small girl, I took her down.
She looked sad and needed a playmate.
I fell, taking her with me to the ground,
With a sickening crunch, it was too late.
I had made a small crack on her face.
She was so perfect, delicate and frail.
I shouldn’t have taken her from her place.
Now her perfect face was cracked and pale.
With tears in my child eyes,
I put her back in her case.
There she watches the sun rise
And lives out her days.
And I swear I can hear her at night,
Crying softly at her loneliness.
I wish I could hold her tight,
And cure her tears with a kiss.