19

I think I've shut off from everything.  From friends and family, my own dreams.  Having fun, seems to be something of a distant memory. I go to doctors to make it better. To fix me, the shattered china doll.  Smashed into so many pieces that to assemble my broken head, seems to be an impossible task.  Why bother fixing something when you can get it shiney new.  So it seems that all of the dolls, with broken faces, and cracked limbs drift together. And make do without their appendages, not caring if something else cracks or breaks.  After all, that's the way things have always been.  The glue that holds our put together pieces together frequently get washed away in the ever persistent rain that stays above us, and we are washed back where we started. And when we crumble from  the lack of pieces to hold us up, we are labeled weak, and undesirable.   

How I despise that word, to get out of bed every day is something of repeated torture, when there is no light left in the lives we chose to live. Is strength.   I do not care what becomes of me, the headless china doll with scratches on her chest and arms and long forgotten dreams.  The dish water rag dress and once smooth hair is what the world sees. 

Now there is no time left to feel, and love has been cut out of my chest where the birds used to sing. Isn't it a terrible thing.  How life can crack us down to the lining of our very being.  Left laying in the dumpster out back,  waiting for the day when I can sigh my last breath. I think I'm alive, I haven't checked if my heart's still beating.   And when it comes down to it, nobody wants something broken; so I am  left laying in the gutters, my shattered remains long forgotten pieces of me.  Waiting for someone one day to see me as I used to be.