This poem in particular has been written rewritten and I could write a short story from all the cut lines. I'll probably never be happy with it, but I don't think I ever could be. But doing so has given me a little closure, taken away some anger and popped everything into a poem shaped box. I can recognise my feelings and see them in a form, and if I ever look back, I know I've made some art out of it.
Ragdoll
It's all here on the box
Here to serve you
Here to please you
What you don't hear is stop
Here lies an empty shell
But the shell is all you need
A ghost of who she was
But still she looks pretty doesn't she
Cold comforting chains clasp
Secrets whispered lay our heads
Bind iron to my skin
Burn bright white hot and brand me
The mascara runs no matter
Reapply it
The neighbours heard no matter
Keep them quiet
Lucy go round the merry go round
Sit me up or drag me
Disconnected dots
Walking, talking, smiling
Train screeches to a stop
Tear drops
She drops
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