Look at her standing there!
An untouched, porcelain, doll, she is
The painted smile of hope and happiness forever resides on her pale face.
Her eyes shine with a sort of magnetic naïveté that only a child could
poses.
No one knows the true meaning behind the glistening forest orbs.
The pain held inside, the tears unshed, the turmoil that plagues her mind,
Her pale pink smile is always there, always obscuring her pained frowns.
Flawless alabaster skin covers the scars made by her scalding tears,
Her blemishes of who she is, and what she feels are there.

What happens when the doll with the childish figure breaks?
What happens when the porcelain paint of her face is shattered?
Will she be discarded because she is not who she was thought to be?
Will her true form emerge?
What if she does not want to show who she is?
Where will she find shelter?
Surely not behind her broken appearance?

That is why she is kept in a glass case,
Away from the things that might expose her,
Away from the light that might fade her,
Away from dust that might cling to her.
Away from it all.
But somehow in the midst of her isolation
Problems come to her like a wolf tracking its prey

 
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