I think a few stitches
Were sewn wrong
In the making
Of me.
I feel
My stuffing coming out
At the seams
And like a doll,
I am moved by
The will of others
Then left in a graceless heap.
And so I lie
Contorted and twisted
Body bent on the floor
Grinning lips parted
In a soundless scream
of Fury
At the
And fleeting playtime joy
Of life as but a toy

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