I am a China doll. Fragile and delicate. I live my life through other people. I sit and I watch as people live while I am sat, still and sullen.
My skin is porcelain white. Natural flushed cheeks are a stark contrast. Small blushing lips. I am peppered with freckles, I am a breathing dot to dot. Plaited pigtails hide my ears.
Squeeze me too tight and I will shatter. Apply too much pressure and I crack. Like lightening has struck my skin. The cracks will just get deeper, darker, more visible. I can feel them. I feel the cracks in my armour, my shields are dented. I feel my strength fading.
Eventually I will break and be completely unfixable. You will stare at the puzzle, the pieces of my life. My jigsaw will miss a piece and never be complete.
I am ornamental. Kept away from people, hiding from potential danger. I sit high and watch people live. I watch them deal with their problems. It’s easier than facing my own.
My own life is a story to me. It’s unreal, unbelievable. My memories are made of other peoples fairytales. I am here but not present, in my past I was just a presence. An ethereal being.
I watch myself through someone else’s eyes. I am not in control, I have no influence. I just watch. I watch as new cracks appear, I wince when they get deeper. I feel my structure breaking down.
China dolls aren’t meant to be played with. They sit still, gather dust and not cause a fuss. Seen but not noticed. There but not real. I am a China doll but I used to be human.
