I had a doll. The doll seemed big since I was small.
She had one dress and that was all. I never worried if she’d fall.
Her hair was silver. Her eyes were black. She had two braids straight down the back.
I named her China. I don’t know why. I’d hold her close when I would cry.
I played with China every day. I’d make her tea. We’d use a tray.
She listened to the things I’d say. She stayed with me when we moved away.
I loved that doll. She knew my dreams. She helped me cope with family things.
I can still see China’s face. I don’t know how she got misplaced.
She was always there. She was my friend. I’ll never see that doll again.
*for china
pic by wonderella
of your apathy is a mute and stifling fog.
once warmth wrapped a blanket – shared, cuddled, spooned.
now. this leaden layer crushes all air. steals. steels. my lungs, my life.
my love – color – faded from the dull gray glaze of your detachment.
choking on my failure to keep your heart impassioned.
i am loser. i am let down. too much trouble. not enough.
i inhale and i am gulping. suffocating. strained.
swallowing the thinnest vapor of your vanishing affection.
