The Pursuit of Perfection

I’m supposed to be porcelain doll, Beautiful, delicate, on a high shelf were no one care reach. But what really happens every night when I let myself fall? I always wanted to be called perfect until I realized the price. Now every breeze that comes my way, knocks me off my shelf, And I tumble down, down, down. I spend the rest of my night scaling the impossibility steep wall, So that when the little girls come in to play with me again, they won’t see what I’ve done. But the problem is, with each fall, cracks are starting to appear on my porcelain skin. Once the girls realize I’m not perfect any more, will they want anything to do with me? Someone picks me up and a jagged piece of my cuts them I’m not longer just hurting myself, but also other people now I want to scream out for help, I want to wash off this smile I’ve painted on, I want to rip off this frilly dress. But I no longer have the strength, I can no longer distinguish the real from the fake. Who am I when no one is looking? I am a sacred little girl who is clinging on to the one thing that keeps her human, Her dreams.