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Eliza

If you don't learn to write your own story, someone else will write it for you

14 poems·Since November 2012
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The Doll

November 15, 2012
The woman holds the doll She tells me "Show me where" I feel like I'm in One of those cheesy therapy movies I tell her "I don't remember, lady" She stares I don't remember the abuse It happened when I Was just a baby Don't you get it, lady? I wish I'd never said a thing But I did I don't remember I just had a dream And it would seem That when I was just a baby He took away my childhood My future With one decision Maybe that's why I spent my life Slowly killing myself Maybe that's why But the lady Is sitting there With that therapist-y glare Trying to "see into my soul" I just shouldn't have told But now I'm seventeen And it would seem That I am "promiscuous" Or, in my words, an epicureanist But hey Everyone's got their vices, right? But she's still there Holding the doll That little doll Who seems to be laughing at me Shrieking "I'll never be touched Like you've been touched I'll never live with all that shame Locked up inside me Playing all these games Living a lie" And before The doll Can say anything else I reach out And point.
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