Delicate

There was a little doll, Dressed up in neon brights. Taken to a shop filled with pastels, whites, a gentle, doe-eyed faces that stared her up and down. They asked about her hair and why it was so dark. Why it wasn't straight and why her nose was sharp. They asked her why she spoke in such a noisy tone. Soon she wondered too, why she wasn't the same. She wasn't pretty porcelain and she, herself, would blame. So to make a copy, to fit into the shop, she forced herself to change to make the taunting stop. Her multicolored skirt, swapped with a light blue dress. Her dark brown head of braids, as straight as they could get. And soon the shop was quiet, because the others left. Bought by little girls, who could relate the best. But looking through the window, the lonely doll did see, A little girl was wondering “Why no doll looks like me!” Brown-eyed and strong featured, not faint and pixie-like. The little girl had walked away, and left the doll alone. If she hadn't changed, the doll would've had a home.