“Doll,” you call me with fondness rolling off of your tongue.
But I do not want to be a mere doll.
Dolls are pretty- With permanent smiles,
Forever closed in silence.
Their glazed over eyes, with a false twinkle
Hold no warmth or feeling at all.
Their perfect glossy hair
Is always brushed and in place.
They wear a beautiful outfit at all times.
They always look bored, but fake interested,
With their empty heads.
I am not a doll.
I frown and smirk and smile,
I talk and sing.
My eyes close with laughter and anger.
My eyes can show real emotion.
My hair gets wild and tangled.
It isn’t always brushed.
My clothes can be baggy and messy.
I have interests as vast as the sea.
My head is full of knowledge and ideas.
But I smile softly as you call me “doll”
Because no single word can summarize
The chaos of the person you love.
You shake your head.
“I don’t call you doll just because you’re pretty.
I call you doll because you’re gentle and comforting.”
Finally. A doll I want to be.