oh, the tears my dolly used to cry
when i was a child of four or five
she had those coal black eyes
that looked up at me without wonder
and her lips were painted a red
that never rubbed off
even when i kissed her goodnight
and we turned out the light
and then the dreams came
of a face with coal black eyes that glittered
in the night and a mouth that seemed
to have devoured a beating heart
and i felt an empty hole where my own humanity
should reside and i would awaken with a shout….
and though i am no longer five
i feel like a porcelain doll that still cries
thick black inky fat tears
that flow from dark made up eyes
down my cheeks they run
to spill from my fingertips
and out into the pages of a young girl’s diary
that small 4X5
pages edged in black and sticky with red
these pages are mine
these fears are mine
hiding behind the expressionless crime
of a castoff doll’s coal black eyes