Porcelain Doll

Porcelain Doll

If I was porcelain I would feel trapped,

Though,

If I was porcelain,

I could smash pieces of myself off,

Just so I would feel my hollow.

My broken chest would finally draw in a slight draft of relief.

If I was porcelain, I would always remain as the same vessel,

Unless, I were to inflict the dismemberment on the shell of my body.

Maybe, the visual damage could be observed.

If I was porcelain,

The consciousness of my existence would deceptively love myself,

The pieces I broke off would make me feel alive,

Yet slowly I’m disintegrating.

I would be the one in control of when and where I could remove pieces of myself.

I would be so light that one would have the ability to pick me up with one hand.

I could finally leave marks on those who broke me,

Though unfortunately it would harm those who try to mend me as well.

However

I am not porcelain,

I am not hollow,

I am not light.

I am fleshy and full,

I can’t be mended with gold.

I’m not porcelain,

I don’t get to choose what pieces to break off.

When I don’t feel whole it isn't for obvious reasons,

My consciousness and pain feels too crowded inside.

My observable sign of false success has so many variables,

So much that it gets lost within the scale of romantic ideals.

The feelings of visible control is in months, rather than a few seconds,

My pieces cannot be swept up when I crash down on the floor,

Instead, I remain in one bruised piece when I fall or faint.

If I was porcelain,

I would be obviously hollow,

Obviously fractured,

But I’m not porcelain,

I’m in a weighted body underwater,

Waiting,

Waiting,

To become light enough to surface,

Or just succumb to the crushing gravity of the water laying on my closed chest.

This life long battle is not entirely about the substance of our body,

It is about the inside of the mind, the wind as our soul, the memories from our body as a whole.

Those things that robbed our freedom and our birthright to control our human existence.