The other day, while walking along the street,
I passed an empty lot where children were playing
and laughing and running and generally being kids.
I stood and watched them run themselves ragged
With a vague feeling of unease.
I watched a little girl of about ten,
a beautiful but dirty little angel-haired girl,
playing with a doll that had seen its better days.
The doll was burned and melted in a couple of places,
hairless and with only one eye.
My heart was filled with sadness for the little girl,
playing with what was a tribute to the toughness of plastic
and not realizing that, in a better world,
all dollies had two eyes, and blond curly hair
and a sequined dress to wear.
Just then, a long black car pulled to the curb,
and a well-dressed young woman rolled down the window.
"Sherry! Get in the car, it's time for dinner!" she hollered,
and my little raggedy angel ran to the passenger door,
leaving the doll laying on the ground.
As the car pulled away, the other children began to leave
(some staring fearfully at the man on the edge of the lot),
and I was left alone, with only the wind to keep me company.
I laughed, mainly at my own wasted time and thoughts,
yet the doll kept my attention.
I wanted to go and get the doll, and throw it away
in order to Keep Our Neighborhood Beautiful,
but something told me that would be wrong just now.
The doll had already been abandoned once today,
another victim of a disposable society.
Feel the pain it brings me.
Don't TOUCH me!
Don't stop me, either.
I'm not hurting anyone important.
Just me.
It doesn't hurt that bad,
and it feels so good
to let the anger go.
Once, twice, three times, four,
maybe more depending on how angry I am.
Leave me alone.
I don't want to stop.
Who cares if I hurt myself?
I don't.
The red comes again, and I lash out
and feel the burning.
It'll hurt for a while,
and then it'll be tender,
and then just go away.
And I'll get angry again,
and I'll lash out again.
The metal is satisfying.
It doesn't give like flesh does.
It doesn't fall like men do.
It doesn't cry or scream
or beg me to stop.
It eggs me on.
I can't hurt it.
But that doesn't mean I can't try.
So I swing again and again
ignoring the burning,
ignoring the pain,
reminding myself to laugh later.
Why can't anyone understand?
I don't want to hurt anyone
important.
I revel in my anger,
and let it control me
for a little while.
There's no one to hurt here,
no one to punish for my own stupidity.
Don't touch me.
Don't try to stop me.
Let me enjoy the pain.
It's all I've got sometimes.
crown o' gems | darkwaves+larkwings sky
jewel@gleeful.com
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